


Dogs and Angels

by MythHighwind



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Events, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate character arc, Assault, Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, Depression, Episode Prompto spoiler, F/M, Gen, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Ignis the mom friend, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Imprisonment, Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV (2016), M/M, Magical letter carrying doggos, Mild Sexual Content, Mostly Non-Shippy But That Will Change Later, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, Poor Prompto, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Retelling, Self-Harm, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-01-10 00:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12287193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythHighwind/pseuds/MythHighwind
Summary: All Prompto wants is to be like everyone else.  His home life is troubled, his secrets could destroy him, but things are looking up. He's a close friend of a future king and the pen-pal of the Oracle.  Just when it seems he's on the verge of something like normal, a violent encounter (and the intervention of a mysterious stranger) forces him down a different and darker path.Meanwhile, when Ignis discovers Prompto's secret, he makes a series of decisions that cost him more than just his position.  With his reputation damaged and his relationship with those closest to him strained, Ignis finds himself lost, uncertain of his future, and without purpose.(Alternate take on the Brotherhood era, Kingsglaive and game canon. )





	1. Worthless

The first time it happens, Prompto is eight. He spills a glass of milk at the dinner table, and watches in horror as the opaque liquid spreads across the particle board and soaks the placemats. His father goes still, his face turns red, and his eyes shift from indifferent to icy cold.

"You're worthless, you know that?" he says and cuffs Prompto across the cheek. "Can't do anything right."

It leaves a mark that lasts for days. Prompto lies and says he tripped. He's just clumsy. Happens all the time.

He feigns trips and falls at school, drops things on purpose to hide the bruises and prove everything is fine. There are no questions when everyone thinks it's his fault. The teachers shake their heads and smile. Poor chubby, clumsy little Prompto. Little butter fingers, trips over his own two feet.

By the time he is eleven, the lies become a habit. His father comes home before bedtime less and less often, but when he does, he leaves his marks in places the teachers can't see.

The only thing that keeps his head above water now is Luna's letters and the long silences between bouts of violence.

Someday.

Someday, he will be worthy.

* * *

Ignis rubs his temples and tries not to wince at the shouts, giggles, beeps, bloops, mechanical whirring, and pops of simulated gunfire. He's no fan of arcades and their aura of barely controlled chaos. There's too much noise, too many people, most under the age of sixteen, gorging on unhealthy snacks and too-sweet sodas. The ever-flashing lights give Ignis a headache, the noise anxiety.

Noctis loves the place and chose it for his first supervised outing with his new school friend, Prompto. Ignis is quietly thrilled Noctis has made a friend, but his feelings about the friend himself are mixed. Prompto is loud, energetic and lacks the social graces expected of a consort of a future king.

It's not that Prompto is impolite, only that he seems unaware decorum is the default among royal associates. He slouches, complains, shouts, and laughs too loud, his manner unrestrained and uncouth. 

"I don't trust that kid," Gladio says. "He's way too familiar with Noctis, and _way_ too common. Doesn't even bother to address him properly."

"This country is built on the backbone of her people," Ignis reminds him. "It will be good for Noctis to be seen not as an untouchable, but down to earth enough to befriend a commoner."

"Yeah, I know, but I still don't think he's the right friend for a Prince," Gladio says. "Kid gets on my nerves."

"The truth reveals itself."

Gladio shrugs and slurps on his giant-sized cola.

"Give the boy a chance, Gladio," Ignis says. "I for one, am relieved Noctis is coming out of his shell."

Across the way, the boys punch buttons on a console. Prompto cackles and shouts something at the screen and Noctis elbows him, a slight smirk on his face. Nearby, a pair of girls watch their game and giggle behind their hands.

Gladio, always on alert for a threat, steps closer, as if they might be a pair of teenaged assassins disguised as school girls. Ignis follows out of habit.

"Hey, check it out," Prompto says. He nudges Noctis in the ribs and angles his head toward the giggling girls. "We've got an audience."

"Yeah? So?" Noctis says and thumbs the joystick rapidly. "What about it?"

"There's only one reason girls come to arcades," Prompto says.

"Yeah? What reason is that?"

"To play games. What else?" Prompto says. He turns and waves at the girls. "Hey, ladies? Care to join us for the next round?"

Ignis shakes his head as the girls wander over, each eyeing Noctis with star-struck adoration. Noctis, as usual, is oblivious.

"So, how we gonna team up?" Prompto asks. "Ladies versus Gents, or Villagers versus Royalty?"

The girls giggle. Gladio crosses his arms over his chest.

"See? That's what I'm talking about," Gladio says. "No respect."

Noctis' classmates treat him either like a celebrity or with extreme deference. Prompto does neither of those things and instead behaves as though Noctis is no different than anyone else. Ignis finds that rather charming, even if Prompto's manners could use some work.

"He's going to be a King before he knows it. Time he starts acting like it," Gladio says.

"All the more reason to let him have his fun now," Ignis says.

"Yeah, well," Gladio says, "when he starts skipping out on training and tutoring to hang out with his new pal, don't say I didn't warn you."

Prompto retrieves a small camera and snaps photos of Noctis and their new friends. Gladio grumbles under his breath.

"Did you look into the matter?" Ignis asks.

"Not much to find," Gladio says. "Father's a low-level accountant for the Ministry of Economy and spends a lot of time at the bar after work. Mom cleans houses and volunteers."

"Rather benign," Ignis says. "Anything else?"

"Well, the kid's grades aren't good enough to warrant a scholarship, and his parents don't make enough dough to pay for an expensive prep school, so there's that."

"Perhaps he has a benefactor," Ignis says.

"Not that I found," Gladio says.

"Dig deeper," Ignis suggests. "What of the boy himself?"

"Never been in trouble," Gladio says. "B-average student. Absent without an excuse a couple times in grade school. Once wandered off the playground to take pictures of birds."

"Sounds like a real hell-raiser," Ignis says and casts a glance sideways. "Cor tells me the Argentum's are loyalists to the crown. If Cor can vouch for them, I have no concerns."

"Kid bugs me," Gladio says.

"And yet Noct is smiling."

Gladio grunts and holds Ignis' gaze a second too long.

The game the boys and their new lady friends are playing lights up and makes a series of beeping sounds. Noctis and Prompto both lift their arms in a victory pose and slap their palms together.

"Who's the man?!" Prompto crows. "Oh, yeah!"

"I demand a rematch," one of the girls declares. "Except, we switch up the teams so it's a fair fight."

"You're on, baby," Prompto says with a crooked grin. "Noct? You up for round two?"

"Oh yeah," Nocits says. "You're going down."

Gladio rolls his eyes, but Ignis can't recall the last time he saw his charge so at ease.

* * *

Prompto is reluctant to say goodbye to Calla and Nancy, but he has homework and Noctis is bound for his afternoon training session with Gladiolus and lessons with Ignis.

He casts one last glance at the girls and waves goodbye as they giggle and titter behind their hands.

"Not sure which one I like better," Prompto says as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. "They're both kinda awesome."

"Calm down. They're just girls."

"Yeah, but girls are _amazing_ ," Prompto says. "They're all so pretty.  And they smell nice."

Prompto pauses as he realizes his friend has never expressed any interest in girls before. He's friendly and kind, but he doesn't go nuts in their presence the way Prompto does.

"So... you're not interested in dating or anything?"

"What's the point?" Noctis asks. "In a few years, my father will tell me who I'm supposed to marry, and that's that."

Prompto never considered Noctis might have no choice in the matter.

"That sucks," Prompto says. "But, doesn't mean you can't have a little fun before you walk that plank."

Noctis snort-laughs and claps Prompto on the shoulder.

"I'll let you have the fun for me," Noctis says.

A fluffy black and tan dog trots down the sidewalk toward them, something strapped to its back, and Noctis' face lights up. He kneels as Umbra sits at his feet, and offers the dog a gentle greeting and a scratch behind the ear.

"You know this little guy?" Prompto asks and crouches down to give Umbra a scratch of his own. They're old pals, but he didn't know Umbra paid Noctis visits, too.

"Yep."

Noctis unstraps the bundle from the dog's back and tucks it under his arm.

"Tomorrow," he tells Umbra, gives a final scratch, and the dog trots away.

"So... You're not going to tell me what that's about?"

Noctis looks uncomfortable, but shrugs. "He belongs to a friend of mine. She doesn't live in Insomnia."

"Ohhh. She's a pen pal," Prompto teases. "Does she have a name?"

Prompto already knows, but Noctis' reaction is curious.

"... Luna."

"Is she your girlfriend?"

"No. We're just... friends."

"Luna and Noctis, sittin' in a tree..."

"Cut it out."

"K-I-S-S- _ooof_!"

Prompto rubs his ribs where Noctis elbowed him, but he laughs at his friend's red cheeks.

"Maybe I could write to your good friend Luna," Prompto says. "Send her a picture or two."

"Why would you?"

"I dunno," Prompto says. "Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, right? Gotta let her know someone's looking out for you."

"That's what Gladio's for."

Prompto rolls his eyes.  That wasn't what he meant and Noctis knows it.

"Come on. Let me send one little picture? Pretty please?"

Noctis heaves a sigh, but he shrugs.

"Fine. One picture."

"Woohooo!"

* * *

_Dear Prompto,_

_Thank you ever so much for the photograph. It warms my heart to see the two of you have become such close friends. It is good to see Noctis smile, and I trust you share my desire to see him happy. He's not one to send photos of himself, and I must say, he has grown a great deal since the last time I saw him. I'm also pleased to finally put a face to your name. Some day, I hope we can meet in person._

_Though my days are busy, it can be very lonely, as I am not necessarily in the company of friends. Your correspondence is always welcome, Prompto. Never think I'm not pleased and honored to receive your letters. I look forward to them, and you are welcome to write as often as you wish, and I will cherish whatever photographs you choose to send in the future, including those of yourself. I promise._

_All I ask is that you continue to stand beside Noctis and support him through the coming years. His burden is great, and childhood will soon be at an end. I know he does not say it, but he values your friendship dearly, and you have my gratitude for being there to brighten his days._

_Yours,_

_Luna_

* * *

_Dear Luna,_

_Yay! I'm so happy you liked the picture! That was the best one, and you're right! It's pretty hard to get Noctis to pose. Never met anyone who hates having his picture taken more than him, so sometimes I have to be sneaky about it, but sometimes, those stealthy pics are the ones that turn out awesome, so I'm not going to complain. He's getting better about it, though. Guess having strangers follow you around taking pictures is kind of a downer, and I guess it would be pretty annoying. But, I'm his buddy so that's different, right?_

_Anyway, the pics I'm sending this time are from the fishing trip Gladio took us on last week. Fishing's not my thing, but Noct really digs it. I was sort of bored by the whole thing. You just sit there and wait for something to bite. It's the worst, but like I said, Noct's into it and the guy's gotta have a little fun every now and then, you know?_

_Sometimes I worry about him. He doesn't talk about the stuff that bothers him but I know it weighs on his mind. Heavy lies the crown, I guess, but I'm doing my best to keep his spirits up. No worries on that account. I got this end covered. You can count on me!_

_Gotta run, but give Pryna a scratch for me, okay?_

_Your buddy,_

_Prompto_

* * *

"So, you wanna hit up the arcade on Saturday?" Prompto asks.

"Can't. Got a volunteer thing at the children's hospital," Nocits says. "Then some dinner thing with my dad."

"Oh, right. Cool," Prompto says. "Hey, you think I can tag along? I'm pretty good with little kids."

Noctis blinks at him and shrugs. "That really how you want to spend your day?"

"Why not? Sick kids need to have fun too," Prompto says.

"They're sick. That's not fun."

"Yeah, I know, but we can _make_ it fun."

"Sure, if you want," Noctis says. "I guess."

"You don't mind?"

"I don't if you don't," Noctis says. "They can always use extra help."

They part ways on the sidewalk outside school in front of a sleek luxury sports car that costs more than everything Prompto owns three times over.

"Sweet ride," Prompto says. "Your dad's?"

"Birthday gift," Noctis says.

Prompto's gift of a collectible Justice Monsters action figure suddenly pales in comparison. Noctis seemed pleased, but what was a cheap plastic toy in comparison to a _car_?

"Um, can you drive yet?"

"I'm learning."

Ignis gets out of the driver's side, polished and poised as always.

"Hey Specs," Noctis says. "You ready to do this?"

"After our last lesson, I'm content to drive you myself until the day you die."

"That bad?" Prompto asks with a laugh.

"Worse."

Prompto cackles and shoves Noctis' shoulder.

"Think you drove him over the edge, dude."

"Indeed," Ignis says. "It gives new meaning to the phrase  _hell on wheels_."

Prompto cackles again. For as stiff as Ignis usually is, Prompto enjoys how salty he can be. Especially when it's directed at Noctis. 

"We'd offer you a ride, but I fear you won't make it home alive."

"I'm _not_ that bad."

"It's all good," Prompto says. "Gotta stop at the market on the way home anyway. Nothing in the fridge but wilted lettuce and soy sauce."

"That does leave something to be desired," Ignis agrees, but he eyes Prompto for a long moment. "Perhaps you could join us for dinner, if your family is still out of town. I'm making Lucian Bass with grilled squash and roasted potatoes."

Prompto's stomach rumbles at the thought. He should stay home, just in case, but he can't resist Ignis' cooking. He's only tried a bite of Noct's lunch every now and then, but the man has a gift.

"Never tried it, but it sounds good," Prompto says.

"Squash?" Noctis asks. His lip curls. "You trying to kill me Specky?"

"Merely trying to diversify your tastes."

"Count me in," Prompto says.

"It's settled then. We'll pick you up at six," Ignis says.

"Sure. I'll meet you at the usual spot, okay?" he says. "See ya!"

Prompto picks up a few items from the grocery anyway, in case his parents actually come home and feel like eating. Loaded down with bags, he trudges through the gate, unlocks the door, and is surprised to find his father on the couch.

He can't remember the last time anyone was there when he got home from school. Most days, no one is there when he goes to bed.

His father's eyes are bloodshot and he smells of booze. Prompto cringes at the memory of the last time his father stumbled home drunk and angry about something that wasn't even Prompto's fault.

"What'cha got there, kid?"

"Just some groceries," he says.

"Spendin' all my money is what you're doing."

"No, just the household money," Prompto says. "It's one of my chores. Remember?"

"Buyin' junk and crap."

"It's just salad stuff and some toilet paper. Honest."

His father stands and Prompto swallows around a lump in his throat. He's never seen his father look at him with so much hatred before. 

"Never should have taken you in."

He grips Prompto by the wrist and tugs down the athletic band that covers the tattoo Prompto has no explanation for. All he's ever known is that it makes him an outsider, that he has to hide it. He drops the grocery bags and goes still.

"You know what you are?" his father asks. "You know what this means?"

Prompto pulls his arm away and receives a backhand slap in return. It stings, and Prompto's eyes cloud with moisture.

"It means you're a Nif, kid. I'm harboring the enemy in my own home, and what thanks do I get for it?"

"I'm not," Prompto says. "You're lying."

"That mark on your arm says otherwise, boy," his father says. "That's what the Nif's brand their robots with. You know that?"

"No."

His father twists his arm, and Prompto goes to his knees as a bone snaps. The first blow is to his gut, the next his ribs. He can't breathe and he curls up into a ball on the floor and waits for it to end. He loses count of how many times his father strikes him, but if he moves, it will get worse.

"Never should have agreed to this," his father says. "You're worthless."

He's been told this his whole life, that he's worthless. That he will never be good enough, never measure up, never truly belong because of that stupid tattoo. He's been told to hide it his whole life, but he never really knew why it matters or what it means.

Maybe there are different answers to the questions he's not sure how to ask, but he's not sure he wants them. Those answers might ruin his life and maybe even get him killed.

His wrist and his ribs are on fire. They throb in time with his heartbeat and every breath is hell. The final blow knocks him out cold.

* * *

Ignis pulls up to the corner where he usually drops Prompto off when they give him a ride, but he isn't there. He waits for a few minutes as Noctis sends his friend a text.

There's no reply and Ignis begins to worry. Prompto, for all his irritating habits, is a good kid and he's always on time for outings with Noctis.

Noctis calls when there's no answer to his text, but it goes to voicemail.

Ignis circles the block, then stops in front of a house.

"Stay here," he tells Noctis.

"You don't know where he lives," Noctis says.

"I have an address," Ignis says.

"Why?"

"You don't think we did our homework?" Ignis asks. "It is our job, after all."

Ignis gets out of the car and approaches the door. It's slightly ajar, and the room beyond is dark. He knocks and calls out, but there is no answer from the other side. He pushes the door open and peers into a small living room. He notices nothing amiss at first, then he sees a body lying motionless on the carpet.

Ignis pushes the door all the way open and invites himself in to find a semi-conscious Prompto curled into a ball, his arm clutched to his chest. Grocery bags are scattered on the floor around him and a selection of produce has escaped their trappings. A tomato here, a cucumber there. It might be comical, if not for the broken boy they encircle.

He kneels down and gingerly turns Prompto onto his back. Prompto has one hell of a black eye, a busted lip, and if Ignis isn't mistaken, a broken wrist. Ignis pries his arm away from his chest, and spies something etched into Prompto's skin.

A barcode and a pair of numbers that send a wave of loathing and anger through him. He's seen it before. It doesn't make sense, but he knows what it is.

There's no time to ask questions now. That can wait until Prompto is able to answer.

Prompto's phone rings and Ignis answers when he sees it's Noctis.

"Come upstairs," Ignis says.

"What's going on?"

"Come upstairs, Noctis," Ignis says. "Your friend needs your help."

Ignis only has one potion on him. It won't be enough to cure Prompto's wounds entirely, but it will take the edge off the pain until he can get Prompto to safety. He doesn't trust whatever happened here won't happen again. There is only one choice to make and that is to offer Prompto the shelter of his spare room for the time being.

Ignis gathers the groceries from the floor as the potion does it's job and carries them to the kitchen. He notices on the way there are no photos of Prompto, nothing that suggests a teenage boy lives here. The furnishings are drab, well used, but clean, and there's little on the walls except a handful of bland landscapes akin to those found in any two-star hotel in the country.

He returns to the living room and attempts to help Prompto sit, but when he does, Prompto's cries out and Ignis rethinks that decision.

"I'm sorry," Ignis says. "Lie still."

"You're not supposed to see me like this," Prompto says, his voice soft but full of gravel.

"Will you tell me what happened?" Ignis asks.

"Fell," Prompto says.  It's a blatant lie, but Ignis doesn't push for answers.

Noctis arrives and stands in the doorway, aghast at Prompto's sorry state.

"Who did this?"

"He says he fell."

"What, from a ten story building?" Noctis says. He storms over to Prompto's side and joins Ignis on the floor. "Prompto, who did this?"

Prompto covers his face with his uninjured arm and shakes his head.

"He'll tell you when he's ready," Ignis says. "Now is not the time."

Noctis opens his mouth to disagree, but Ignis shuts him down with a look.

"Perhaps you could pack him an overnight bag," Ignis suggests. "For a couple days, at least."

"Yeah," Noctis agrees. "Anything you want me to grab, Prompto?"

"Just my camera."

Noctis brushes a hand over Prompto's sweat damp hair.  

"Gotcha covered," Noctis says.  He catches Ignis' eye. "I'll take care of ir."

* * *

The ride to Ignis' apartment is nearly silent. Prompto sits in the back, the worst of his injuries on the mend, but his pride has taken a massive hit.

They weren't supposed to know.

He leans against the door, his still-swollen eye against the cool glass, and he thinks about what his father said.

Could it really be true? If the Nif army is branded this way, what does that mean for him?

More important, did Ignis or Noctis see it?

If so, does that mean he can't be Noct's friend anymore? If he really is one of them, would Noctis even want him as a friend?

The thought of losing Noct's friendship somehow worse than all the rest.

"You'll stay with me for now," Ignis says. "I'd feel better knowing you're somewhere safe."

"You don't have to do that," Prompto says. "It's no big deal."

"Humor me," Ignis says.

Prompto tries to nod, but it hurts. He closes his eyes against the light and hopes he'll never hurt like this again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be pretty long. Basically a re-imagining of Prompto, Luna and Noct's respective story arcs with some extra Iggy for good measure. (If any of you are reading my other wip, don't worry. It hasn't been abandoned. Update coming soon.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Shadows, Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, guys. Thank you for all the kudos, comments and whatnot. I'm overwhelmed at the response to this. I expected a lot less attention, and I just, wow. As such, I felt the need to thank you by posting the next chapter early. Hope you enjoy.

Even on a good day, Prompto complains a lot. Bugs. Rain. Homework. Gym class. All the little minor annoyances warrant a sometimes comical, sometimes annoying triad about the inconveniences of daily life.

Noctis expects the usual whining over the pain and discomfort from the beating he took, but Prompto sucks it up and stays quiet. He submits to Ignis' mothering as Ignis tends to wounds that look even worse in the light. Prompto's freckled cheeks blaze red and his eyes remain downcast. He suffers in silence, with only the occasional grunt to betray him.

Whatever happened, Prompto didn't fall.

From time to time, Noctis noticed unexplained bruises. He bought Prompto's excuses of clumsiness, believed the stories about tumbles down the stairs and trips over cracks in the sidewalk.

They've only been friends a year, but Gladio and Ignis aside, Prompto is his only real friend. He appreciates that their friendship is not one that comes with strings or duty attached. Prompto is not there to act as a bodyguard or an advisor. He doesn't have an assignment or an obligation.

Now, as he watches his friend suffer so quietly, he feels as though he's let Prompto down. The signs were in front of him all along, and he ignored them.

"Is that too tight?" Ignis asks as he secures a splint on Prompto's wrist.

"It's good," Prompto says. "Uh, and, you know. Thanks."

Noctis sits on the end of the bed and he can't bring himself to look Prompto in the eye.

"You wanna talk?" he asks.

"I don't know where to start."

Noctis glances at Ignis and angles his head toward the door. Ignis gives a nod of understanding.

"I'll go start dinner," Ignis says. "Let me know if you need another potion."

Noctis gets up and sits next to his friend, his back against the headboard and his knees drawn toward his chest. Prompto, propped up by Ignis' collection of decorative pillows, keeps his eyes fixed on his splinted arm.

"I know we don't talk about the big stuff," Noctis says, "but if there's ever anything you need to get off your chest, you can tell me."

"I know," Prompto says.

"I don't think you do," Noctis says.

Prompto toys with the edge of the bandage, his posture defeated and the corners of his mouth down-turned.

"You get mugged on the way home or something?"

"No."

"Was it...?" Noctis begins. It isn't an easy question to ask. "Was it your dad?"

Prompto hesitates, his eyes shimmer with tears, but he shakes his head no.

Noctis has his answer, the one he suspected the second he walked into Prompto's apartment.

He's not sure how to offer comfort, or how to make it right. He takes comfort in knowing Prompto is safe for now, but he wonders how much pain his good-natured friend his hiding behind that smile.

Noctis pats Prompto's shoulder and climbs out of the bed.

"Get some rest. I'm gonna give Iggy a hand."

Gladio and Iris are in the kitchen with Ignis, who stands at the counter whisking something in a bowl. Iris beams at Noctis, and Gladio greets him with a nod.

"That thing that happened earlier?" Noctis says to Ignis. "It was his father."

Ignis pours the mixture from the bowl over fillets of fish.

"I suspected."

"We gotta do something about that," Noctis insists. "Might kill him next time."

"Won't be a next time if I have anything to say about it."

"Yo, what are you two scheming about?" Gladio asks.

"Fill him in, while I start the squash?" Ignis says. "Iris, do be a dear and peel the potatoes, if you're still willing to help?"

"Sure," she says. "Just point me to the potato peeler."

Noctis takes Gladio aside. Gladio's expression darkens the more he hears, and Noctis senses Gladio is itching for a fight.

"How long's this been going on?"

"I don't know. A while, I think."

"I'll take care of it."

"I want in," Noctis says.

"No can do, kid," Gladio says. "Can't have His Highness, the Crown Prince Lucis involved in the beat-down of a Lucian Citizen."

"You're nobility. What's the difference?" Noctis says.

"I won't be King someday."

Noctis doesn't want to be King. He sees what the job does to his father, his body aging and failing and his time too limited to enjoy being alive. Not that Noctis seeks his own joy. He'd rather sleep, but his father doesn't even do that, even when he's exhausted.

"I'm not going to stand aside and let you have all the fun," Noctis says. "If anyone deserves a head-bashing courtesy of the royal line it's this guy."

Gladio shakes his head, but Noctis digs in.

"I owe it to Prompto to make sure it doesn't happen again," Noctis says. "Take me with you."

"Well, don't blame me if it winds up in the papers."

Noctis claps Gladio on the arm.

"Then we'll make sure it doesn't."

* * *

Prompto sleeps through dinner. When he wakes, it's to the scent of bacon and coffee. Ignis is seated beside the window in an arm chair with a stack of documents in his lap and a plate of breakfast on the small table.

"Would you like something to eat?"

Ignis doesn't wait for Prompto's answer. He leaves and returns with a plate and a mug of coffee. Prompto doesn't drink coffee. He's energetic enough without it, but he accepts it and digs into a healthy portion of scrambled eggs, fried potatoes and crispy bacon. When he finishes every last bite, Ignis offers him more.

He's tempted but declines. Overeating has always been a struggle.

"Perhaps you'd like to freshen up?" Ignis says. "Then, I'll take a look at your injuries."

Prompto sits up and grunts at the stiffness in the muscles of his back. A dull pain shoots through his side, but otherwise he feels better. The curatives have healed most of the damage, but the healing itself is its own sort of ache.

He limps to the adjacent bathroom, where Ignis has laid out bath towels and toiletries for his use, he wonders how much trouble he will be in when he goes home. He's not supposed to be out after eight or stay over with friends without leaving a note, and he's definitely not supposed to skip school. When Prompto's not there for roll call, the school will call his parents, and its a sure bet one of them will be waiting for him at home after the final bell.

The hot water soothes his aches and clears his head. His father's ire over missing school is the least of his worries.

He emerges from the bath clean and dressed to find Ignis still beside the window with his stack of documents.

"Better?"

"Loads," Prompto says.

"I imagine you're still a little sore," Ignis says. "I've taken the liberty of contacting the school regarding your absence. Noctis will bring you your assignments."

"Thanks," Prompto says and eases down onto the edge of the bed. "How did you guys know where to find me?"

Ignis' smile is enigmatic. "We have our ways."

"Oh, yeah. Guess you guys would have to vet Noct's friends pretty well, huh?" Prompto says. "Guess you didn't find anything sketchy or else we wouldn't be able to hang out, right?"

"Indeed," Ignis says. "Though I hear you used to fly the coop to take photographs."

"Heh. Yeah, guess I did," he says. "I was in my own little world back then."

"As you are now," Ignis says with a kind smile. He holds out his hand and gestures at Prompto's arm. "May I?"

Prompto reluctantly turns over his arm for Ignis' inspection. He unwraps the bindings and gingerly investigates the spot where the bone broke. It's still a little swollen, badly bruised, and tender to the touch, but Prompto can move it without much pain. In a day or two, all evidence of the injury will be erased.

Ignis turns his arm palm down and eyes the barcode with great interest. Prompto cringes under his scrutiny and pulls away.

"May I ask where you got that?" Ignis asks. "Poor choice at the tattoo parlor, perhaps?"

Prompto could lie. He could laugh it off and agree, but he doesn't.

"I've had it as long as I can remember."

"Curious."

"I don't even really know what it means, you know?" Prompto says. "Just something my family told me I had to hide. So I did."

"With good reason," Ignis says. "Though it's missing a production date, this looks very much like the serial numbers assigned to the Empire's Magitek Troopers."

Prompto feels sick. It's as bad as he feared.

"I'm not one of them," Prompto says. "I'm not a robot."

"Indeed. I see no evidence of that," Ignis says. "It appears, given the lack of a date you may have been among the first batches created by the Empire."

"...created?" Prompto asks.

Ignis explains, and Prompto's sure if he hears more, he's going to throw up. He holds up his good hand and shakes his head.

"No more, okay? I can't right now."

"If you wish," Ignis says. "However, I fully intend to look into the matter of how you came to be here. I understand you were adopted by the Argentums as an infant. I expect there's a great deal more to the story than a working-class family willing to take on a foreign war orphan out of the kindness of their hearts."

Prompto flinches and lowers his head.

"If this is real, it means someone took you and brought you here," Ignis says. "I intend to find out the reasons behind it."

Prompto's not sure he wants to know. He's had enough truths for one day, and it's hard enough to get his head around the idea that he might not be entirely human.

"Does Noct know? Did he see it?" he asks after a beat.

"No," Ignis says. "For now, this stays between us unless you choose to share it with him, though I'd use caution until we know more."

Prompto's eyes sting and he breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, Ig," Prompto says. "Appreciate it."

"It's no trouble," Ignis says. "For now, continue to keep it covered and I'll update you on what I learn."

He binds the splint again and offers Prompto another potion, which he refuses. Another potion won't cure the worst of his troubles and he can live with sore muscles for another day or two.

* * *

_Dear Luna,_

_Think you could spare a prayer or two for my friend Prompto? He's the guy in the photo I sent a while back. He's going through a rough time and could use all the help he can get. You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important._

_Sending along a clipping from a gossip column. Thought you'd find it funny. I sure as hell do._

_Yours,_

_The Prince of Tentacles_

* * *

Noctis barely pays attention in class. He flips through a tabloid that someone discarded in the lunchroom and amuses himself with half a dozen wild theories about the nobility, himself and the King until the final bell rings. He doesn't normally read this junk, but it's a distraction from the cold anger over Prompto's plight. It's also hilarious to think someone spent time coming up with this insanity. There's even proof in the form of a poorly edited photograph.

He clips it and tucks it into Luna's notebook for laughs and pens a quick note to send along with it. Then, he watches the clock and pretends he hears what the instructor is saying. Sometimes, he wishes his warp ability could speed up time, too.

It's Gladio that picks him up instead of Ignis. They drive across town to a seedy bar tucked at the back of an alley in a neighborhood Noctis has never visited before.

He's aware there is poverty in Insomnia, but this place goes beyond what he imagines when he hears that word. Though homelessness is minimal according to the numbers Ignis makes him study, he sees a different story written on these streets.

They're mostly refugees, displaced citizens from Lucian territories overtaken by the Imperials that have nowhere to go but here. They were offered safety within Insomnia's walls, but Noctis sees there's no safety here, and no refuge.

He vows to do something about that. Whether his father will listen or not. These people were loyal to their King, and Lucis couldn't protect them. It isn't enough to open up the gates and let them in without a safety net to help them begin again in an environment where foreigners were met with elitism and mistrust. It isn't their fault they're here, and it isn't their fault the natives have turned their backs.

"Goddamn," he says to himself as they pass a young mother with two young children huddled next to a dumpster. Their dress suggests they are from Galahd. "Great job, dad."

It only fuels the anger that has weighed him down all day. He reaches into his pocket and offers the woman all the cash in his wallet. It isn't much, but should be enough for a meal.

Gladio frowns and shakes his head, but Noctis ignores him. The woman whispers her thanks and clutches the smallest child closer.

"Get a move on, Noct," he says. "This isn't a part of town you want to loiter in."

"Yeah, I got that."

They join a man and a woman outside the bar. Noctis recognizes their faces, he's seen them around the citadel, but he can't recall their names. Both look like they've seen their share of battle.

"Thanks for coming," Gladio says to the woman. "I owe you one. Maybe I can take you out for a drink sometime."

"I only drink with comrades," the woman says with a smirk. "And only top shelf."

"I'd never let a lady drink swill."

"You're barking up the wrong tree," she says and her smirk grows into a smile. "I'm definitely no lady."

"No, but I bet you're always in charge," Gladio says with a flirtatious smile.

Gladio thinks he's smooth and Noctis rolls his eyes and sticks a finger down his throat. The man accompanying her chuckles.

"And I bet you're not used to being told no," she says easily. "What are you, like 19?"

The man behind her grins and slides an arm around her shoulders.

"That was a good try, but you've gotta work on your game a little, Amicitia," the man says. "Takes a lot to impress a girl like this, considering how you Crownsguard don't see much battle outside a training center."

"Yeah, yeah," Gladio says. "Laugh it up, Hero. How's gate duty treating you? Hear Drautos wasn't so pleased about that stunt you pulled."

"Ah, he's just jealous."

Noctis fears it's going to come to a fight, but all three laugh and offer more proper greetings.

They salute and bow in deference when Gladio introduces him. Noctis waves them off. He hates the attention his title draws, and it's definitely not a good idea to make it known here, of all places.

"Noctis, this is Nyx and Crowe," Gladio says. "Of the Kingsglaive."

"It's a pleasure," Noctis says.

"So, what kind of mess are you in that the Crownsguard can't handle on their own?"

"The kind that no one needs to know about," Noctis says. "This guy beat the hell out of a friend of mine. We're going to remind him what happens when you step on a consort of the royal family."

"Your friend can't fight his own battles?" Nyx asks.

"Not really," Noctis says. "If you saw him, you'd understand."

"He's puny and sixteen and as common as they come," Gladio supplies. "Not a fighter."

Noctis is inclined to disagree. Fighting doesn't always involve muscle, and it's clear Prompto's been fighting a long, hard battle on his own.

Crowe frowns, a bit of pity in her eyes.

"Can't stand bullies," Nyx says. "Count me in."

"You guys are here for intimidation only," Gladio says. "But I'm not going to lose any sleep if maybe you slip and his face falls into your fist a few times."

Nyx grins. "Understood."

Gladio leads the way, Noctis brings up the rear. They're careful to avoid the security cameras and they keep their backs to them when they can't. Noctis' fury swells as they approach a man at the bar.

There are six empty beer bottles in front of him, a seventh in his hand. Hebeto Argentum has already consumed more than his share and it's not even sundown. He's a large man, broad shouldered and probably as tall as Gladio. Even if Prompto fought back, he wouldn't stand a chance.

Gladio grabs the man by the collar of his dress shirt and hauls him to his feet. The man takes a wild swing, but Gladio pins him face down against the wooden bar top. Nyx and Crowe flank him.

"So, you think it's fun to beat up on kids, huh?" Gladio says.

"That lying little shit!" Argentum cries. "I didn't do anything. He fell, okay? He's a klutz!"

Gladio tightens his grip. The man struggles to free himself, but Gladio doesn't let up.

"You're what, three times his size?" Gladio asks. "And a hundred pounds heavier? Tell me how that's a fair fight."

"Kid's a liar!" Argentum says. "Lemmie go!"

Gladio lifts him up off the bar and drags him out into the alley, kicking and flailing the whole way. He's the same size as Gladio, and about the same height, but his girth is not due to muscle mass.

"You want to fight someone, give me a shot instead," Gladio says. "You, me. Right here, right now. We'll see how tough you really are."

Gladio shoves Argentum away. Argentum stumbles but raises his fists, ready to fight and defend himself. Nyx and Crowe block him in, his back to the wall.

"Listen, I don't want any trouble," he says and drops his fists. "I'm not looking for a fight."

"Too bad, you got one," Gladio says. "See, Prompto has some pretty powerful friends. Where I come from, you mess with the behemoth, you shouldn't be shocked when you get the horns."

Gladio steps back and allows Hebeto Argentum to see Noctis. Argentum's eyes go wide and he shakes his head.

"This is all a misunderstanding," he says. "I didn't lay a hand on him. I swear!"

Noctis is not the type to get into brawls outside of training. He's never hit anyone who wasn't willing to get hit in return. He's not a fighter by nature, even if brawling has been drilled into him, a necessity required by his position. Faced with a drunken, helpless opponent, he hesitates.

It isn't a fair fight, but then again, Prompto didn't get a fair shot either.

Noctis fights back against his conscience and delivers the first blow. Not with a weapon, but his bare fist, just the way Gladio taught him. His punch lands against the man's side, the impact and placement designed to bring about maximum pain. He swings again and his fist collides with the man's face.

Argentum howls and hunches forward, a hand pressed to his bruised ribs. It's oddly satisfying.

"Okay, okay," the man wheezes. "Maybe I knocked him around a little. Won't happen again. I swear."

"That wasn't the first time, was it?" Noctis asks.

"He asked for it!"

"I doubt that," Noctis says. He looks to Gladio. "I don't think he's getting the message."

The beating Argentum receives is short, but brutal. Noctis gets in a couple more hits as Gladio holds him still, then stands back and watches while Crownsguard and Kingsglaive work together to deliver his sentence. If Noctis has any regrets, it's that he didn't understand Prompto's plight sooner.

It explains too much about why Prompto doesn't talk about his family, and about why he's always reluctant to go home.

When they're finished, Hebeto Argentum lays in a heap on the dirty cobblestones with a bloody nose, two black eyes and a few broken bones. Noctis kneels down beside him, takes his arm and twists until he feels it snap. The man's scream is pure agony, but Noctis feels no sympathy.

"Prompto is under my protection," Noctis says. "Do you understand?"

"...yes."

"Good."

Noctis is shaking as they leave the man in the alley. He's half sick over what he's just done, but full of vengeful blood-lust and vindication on Prompto's behalf. Maybe the way they went about it was wrong, maybe the man is owed due process under the law, but a cold kind of justice has been served.

"Never would have guessed you had that in you, Highness," Nyx says and claps him on the shoulder. "This kid must be a good friend."

Noctis nods. "The best."

* * *

_Dear Prompto,_

_Your last letter was unusually terse, and utterly devoid of photos. I've almost come to expect them, so imagine my disappointment when I opened the envelope to find a few short sentences and no new photos to add to my collection. Really, Prompto. That is unacceptable. What shall I do with myself if there are no new awkward photos of Noctis petting stray cats to make my long and lonely days bearable?_

_All kidding aside, I hope you don't feel your correspondence is out of line. As I've said, it is always welcome and always appreciated. I don't mean to pry or upset you, but I worry about you as much as I worry for Noctis. I also understand if circumstances prevent you from writing at present, but know that you are more than welcome to share your troubles with me if you wish. I'm too far away to gossip, after all, and anything you tell me will be kept in the strictest of confidence._

_Always remember, the shadows are there to teach us to appreciate the light. You're in my thoughts and prayers, and I hope to hear from you soon._

_Yours,_

_Luna_

* * *

_Dear Luna,_

_I'm just going through some stuff. I'll tell you about it some other time. The good news is I'm staying with Iggy, and Gladio thinks I should train to become a Crownsguard. I won't just be that weird kid that follows Noct around with a camera anymore, I'll actually be able to do something useful. How cool is that? So now, after school every day I'm supposed to train, and I'm actually looking forward to it, even though I'm not crazy about the idea of killing things. But hey, whatever I need to do to serve my future King, right?_

_Anyway, today's set of pictures is from the visit to the children's hospital. We had a great time playing with the kids and you know, Noct is pretty good with them. You'd be proud. Oh, and the weird one of me crawling around on the floor is me pretending to be a chocobo. Yeah, I'm that guy. I gave them all rides. It was a blast, but boy does my back hurt, even days later. I think I'm going to keep going back to see them when I can, though, even if Noct doesn't come with me. I feel like I did something worthwhile, you know? Sometimes I can't see the forest for the trees, so it helps to remind me that no matter how bad my own troubles seem, they're small chicobos in comparison. I mean, I got it pretty good when I think about it, so if there's anything I can do to make it better for those who don't, it's worth doing._

_Thanks for thinking of me, Luna. Sometimes I forget I have some really awesome friends and that I'm lucky enough to call someone like you one of them. I mean, you don't have to take time out of your busy day to keep in touch, but you do, and I'm humbled that you think someone like me is worth your time._

_Your buddy,_

_Prompto_

_P.S. Noct really does love him some stray cats. Wanna make a wager about how many he adopts once he's King? I mean, the Citadel's a pretty big place! He can house a bunch and I doubt anyone would even notice._

* * *

_Dear Prompto,_

_I shall take you up on your wager. I say 100 stray cats, all of which he will name after characters from the games he so loves and I have no clue about. Henceforth, Noctis shall be known only as the Crazy Cat Lady for the purposes of our letters._

_I'm not one to make bets, but a cash wager seems rather boring. If I win, I will require that you take a place in court in Tenebrae, should we ever achieve our independence from the Empire. You shall be the official court photographer and Master of Something-or-Other to make it sound official. If I lose, I will steal away from my hosts for a time and finally pay my dear friends in Insomnia an overdue visit. Does that suffice?_

_I'm so pleased to hear you wish to continue volunteering at the children's hospital. I spend a great deal of time healing and visiting the ill wherever I am, and it is quite rewarding and humbling to see all the everyday heroism that goes unnoticed. Though it is my duty as Oracle, it feels good to give back and to know something I've done has eased someone's pain, even if for only a short while._

_And please do your best to dissuade our Crazy Cat Lady from encouraging rumors of his unfortunate, otherworldly birth. Seems he's quite amused by the story regarding his extra appendages. While I also find it amusing, perhaps he could take it down a notch? Word has spread that the future King of Lucis is, in fact, an alien, and unfortunately there are those foolish enough to believe in such things._

_I hope you're doing well, and I will keep you in my prayers so that whatever burdens you carry will be lifted and you will find the joy still to be found in this troubled world we live in._

_Yours,_

_Luna_

* * *

It takes Prompto a few days to adjust to his new, if temporary home. His injuries heal, and slowly he begins to trust that his father won't come storming in to take him back. As the weeks and months pass, his good humor returns, his test scores improve thanks to Ignis' help, and he spends every afternoon training with the Crownsguard recruits. At the end of each day, he collapses into bed, exhausted but with the sense that he's finally on his way to changing his fate.

The only thing that still weighs heavy on his mind is what he could be, and where he's from. Ignis digs into the subject, but there's little information to be found beyond what they already know. It's precious little comfort in the face of what he stands to lose.

He looks forward to Luna's letters. A playful sense of humor begins to reveal itself, and Prompto grows more and more comfortable revealing truths he can barely share with Noctis. He doesn't tell her a lot, but more than he dares say out loud. She is always kind in her response, empathetic in ways that his friends are not.

A couple of weeks pass and Prompto finally returns to his old home to retrieve the rest of his belongings. He doesn't tell anyone he's going. It's a risk, but he's stronger now. He knows how to fight back. He knows he can.

His key still works and as expected, no one is home. It's the same as he left it. Bleak and unwelcoming. Empty, and it hasn't been cleaned since he left it. Take-out boxes litter the counters and the trash overflows. Roaches scatter at his approach and he cringes, disgusted by the thought that anyone could live this way.

His belongings have been packed up, the posters removed from the walls. He's surprised there's anything left.

He sorts through the boxes but discovers there isn't much he wants anymore. He packs some of his clothing and a few sentimental items, his favorite comics and his photo albums, but the rest doesn't matter. This room and these things are part of his old life.

It's life he's ready to leave behind. He will be an outsider no matter where he goes, and he's not sure he belongs at Iggy's, but he knows he doesn't belong here.

He's never belonged here. They will never welcome him home or celebrate his successes. They will never see him the way he needs them to see him.

He exits the bedroom just as the front door opens. His mother steps inside and freezes at the sight of him. It's hard to tell if she's afraid or angry or surprised or some combination of the three. Prompto watches her from the doorway, his heart aching for her to be the kind of mother he always wanted.

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

"Getting my stuff," he says. "I'm on my way out."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

Prompto wants to ask a thousand questions, but she's just as much a stranger now as she was before. She's unmoved and her indifference hurts.

"Why?" he asks because it's the only question he can manage.

"I tried, Prompto. I tried, and it just didn't work."

"What didn't work?"

"It's hard to love a thing you hate so much," she says softly. She gestures at his covered wrist. "I tried, and I couldn't."

This is so much worse than his father's fists. It hurts a thousand times more. He wants to ask why he wasn't worth loving. Why they took him in. Why it was so hard to care.

"It's not your fault," she says. "You were a good boy. I'm just not a good enough person to get past it."

She shakes her head and rushes past him to the kitchen. She turns her back at the sink and leans both palms against the counter.

"I'm sorry I failed you, Prompto. I should have tried harder," she says.

The truth sucks. His throat tightens and his eyes burn. He wants to forgive her, to ask her to try again, but if after all these years she doesn't have it in her, there's nothing he can do to change it.

"You should probably go. He'll be home soon."

"So, that's it then?" he asks. "You wash your hands of me?"

"It's probably for the best," she says. "I can't protect you."

He needed her protection, but more than that, he needed her love, and he never got it. All because of the mark the Empire has left on him.

Prompto leaves without a proper goodbye. He takes the bus back to Ignis' apartment, numb and tired and his heart in bloody shreds.

Ignis greets him from his place at the table, an endless stack of books and paperwork before him, and Prompto nods back. He stashes his bags in his room and returns to the kitchen, where a kettle of hot water is warming for tea. Prompto stares at the bright red coils, mesmerized by the opportunity it offers.

A new brand might cover the old one, or maybe obscure it enough that it won't be recognizable for what it is. He could burn it away until it disappears, a scar preferable to what is already there.

It's worth it to try. A few minutes of agony might buy him a future where he doesn't need to hide. A future where someone loves him for who he is instead of being denied because of where he might be from.

He strips off the athletic band and drops it on the counter. It's now or never, while Ignis' back is turned.

Prompto removes the kettle from the burner, takes a deep breath, and presses the branded skin against the glowing ring on the stove.


	3. Blindspot

Ignis looks up from his studies as a thin but pained cry rises from the kitchen. A moment later, he smells burnt hair. The sound comes again, louder this time, and Ignis rushes into the kitchen to investigate.

Prompto stands at the stove, his arm pressed to the fire-red burner. His face is contorted and the tendons of his neck stand out. His lips are pressed together to hold back a scream. Sweat beads on his forehead.

Ignis forcibly removes his arm from the stove, turns off the heat, and reaches for one of the potions he keeps in the drawer specifically for kitchen mishaps. He breaks it against Prompto's burn and is rewarded with a whimper of relief.

As the burn heals, Prompto squeezes his eyes shut and his face collapses. Twin rivers spill down his cheeks and he covers his face with his other hand to hide his shame.

Ignis is not big on hugging, but he draws Prompto into his best approximation of a motherly embrace. Whatever brought this on requires it.

Prompto lets out a loud, barking sob as Ignis folds him against his chest and the sound of it tears Ignis apart. For all his complaining, the things Prompto gives voice to are not the things that really bother him. Those things, he holds back. That's never been more clear than it is now. There is a world of pain in Prompto's hacking wails, more than Ignis could ever imagine.

"It's all right," Ignis promises as he clasps the back of Prompto's neck and holds him tighter. "I understand."

Ignis wonders if that so-called family of Prompto's ever bothered with this sort of nurturing. Prompto clings to him, desperate and pitiful, like he's never been held before in his life.

"I'm sorry," Prompto moans through hiccuping sobs. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Ignis says. "Let it out."

Prompto's tears soak through Ignis' dress shirt and his body burns like he's come down with a fever. Ignis can't remember the last time he cried himself, but he sheds a tear or two on Prompto's behalf.

Perhaps if the others were around, Ignis would handle this differently. Perhaps Prompto would, too. They are alone, and there's no need for pretenses or restraint.

Prompto eventually pulls away and wipes angrily at his wet cheeks. His eyes and nose are red and his mouth shakes with the effort to stop crying. He slips to the floor and sits with his back to the oven with his head between his knees, and takes long, slow breaths to calm himself.

Ignis joins him and lays a hand against the back of Prompto's head. He ruffles Prompto's hair and pats his neck, just the way he used to do for Noctis when he was a boy. Noctis' outbursts were rare, but they happened.

They all like to joke that Ignis is a mother hen, but he feels a protective, paternal sort of fondness for these boys in his care, Gladio included, though he's barely a man himself.

Though he knows his job is necessary, sometimes he feels like a glorified nanny. But who else will guide the boys, if not Ignis? He would trust no one else to do the job as thoroughly or with as much nuance as himself. Yet for all his dedication, there is nothing he can do to ease this kind of pain except be there. His offering is precious little in comparison to the hurt that drove Prompto to this in the first place.

"I'm sorry," Prompto says again. "I didn't mean to lose it."

"Don't apologize," Ignis says. "I myself have been wondering if that might work."

Prompto holds out his still-healing wrist. The code is still there, plain as day beneath the fading burn, the numbers legible and the lines all perfectly straight.

"Guess not," Prompto says quietly.

"Pity. It would have been an effective solution to the problem."

"Should have known it wouldn't be that easy."

"Indeed," Ignis says. "Perhaps in time we'll find another way. It's too soon to give up hope."

Prompto sniffles and wipes his eyes.

"Hey Iggy? You don't have to keep helping me out," he says. "I know I'm in your way."

Ignis rubs Prompto's back like he's a small child. In some ways, perhaps he still is. His chin quivers and his eyes begin to leak again and he looks very much like a young boy in the midst of a scolding.

"I rather enjoy your company. It can get lonely by myself," Ignis says. "But, I must admit it's also nice to have someone to feed who doesn't turn his nose up at half of what's on the plate. It allows me to indulge in more exotic fare without fear of censorship. I, for one, appreciate your lack of fear when it comes to trying new flavors."

Prompto sniffles again, but almost smiles.

"Your food's awesome, Ig. I'm happy to be your taste-tester," Prompto says. "But I mean, I'm not picky like some people we know. I'll pretty much eat anything you put in front of me."

"Indeed," Ignis says. "May I tell you a secret?"

"Sure," Prompto says.

"I occasionally sneak vegetables into Noctis' meals," Ignis says. "And he eats them. Without complaint."

"Yeah? How do you do that? He doesn't notice?"

"Of course not," Ignis says. "I shred them finely and mix them into whatever dish I've prepared. For example, my marinara sauce contains both carrots and green squash. Sometimes spinach as well. I tell him it's basil, which is  _not_  a vegetable, no matter how green it appears."

"No kidding," Prompto says. He smiles, for real this time. "Dude, he'd be so mad if he knew."

"Which is why we're not going to tell him," Ignis says. "Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss."

"Must be nice though, to pick and choose what you eat," Prompto says. "If I did that I'd weigh a ton."

"Moderation is key," Ignis says. "But, you're allowed to indulge every now and then."

Prompto goes quiet and folds his arms over his knees. He rests his chin on his forearm and stares at the cabinets across from them.

"Next time you feel the need to maim yourself," Ignis says, "speak with me first. I know it's tempting to make rash decisions when you're upset, but we'll find a solution together, and that requires a cool head and some consideration beforehand."

"Yeah," Prompto says. "Will do."

"On a different note, some mail came for you today."

"I'm getting mail here?"

"So it seems," Ignis says.

He pushes to his feet, gathers the mail from the table and hands the envelope to Prompto. Prompto stares at it for a second, then tears it open. Inside is a debit card and a folded sheet of paper.

"What is this?" he asks and examines the card.

"I assume it's your pay."

"For what?"

Ignis smiles. Of course Prompto would join the Crownsguard without the expectation of compensation. Even recruits received a stipend for their training time. The fact that Prompto is ignorant of this says a lot about Prompto's reasons for doing it.

"You're a servant of the Crown now," Ignis says. "That does come with some benefits."

Prompto looks over the included statement and his eyes widen.

"Are you kidding me?" he cries. "I've been saving my change for three years and it's not even close to this! Are you sure this isn't a mistake?"

"No mistake," Ignis says. "Perhaps you should treat yourself. One little splurge, and then you'll put the rest in savings for the future."

Prompto stares at him like he's speaking a different language.

"Go get cleaned up," Ignis says. "I have a sudden and uncontrollable craving for ice cream. And you have some money to spend."

"Oh! Yeah, sure. I'll treat you to some ice cream if you want, seeing as I just got paid," Prompto says, a bit of his former energy creeping back into his voice. "It's the least I can do after, you know, everything."

Ignis laughs and helps Prompto up off the floor.

"You misread my meaning," Ignis says. "The ice cream is  _my_  treat. Then, you will purchase something expensive and completely unnecessary because you  _can_."

"Expensive and completely unnecessary?" Prompto asks with a cautious smile. "Like what?"

"Isn't there anything you've wanted and couldn't afford?"

"Well..." Prompto begins. "There was something, but it's probably gone now."

"Then we best go find out."

* * *

Prompto strolls along the sidewalk in the shopping district, Ignis beside him. He hasn't completely recovered from his meltdown, and the athletic band chafes the still-healing burn, but the fresh air, ice cream, and activity lift his spirits.

It was rash and impulsive to do what he did. He knows that. He just wanted the barcode gone for good, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

It didn't help anything. He's still branded, still a thing everyone will hate if they find out.

He's glad Iggy was there, but he's embarrassed by the way he reacted. It's been a long, long time since anyone hugged him, and he didn't know how starved he was for it he was until Ignis offered.

That was the worst part. That desperate feeling, the incredible need to be held and comforted, and how easily he fell apart when Ignis gave him both.

Prompto peers into window after window, but nothing really strikes his fancy. In this part of town, there are a ton of clothing shops and places to buy kitchen gadgets and jewelry, but Prompto doesn't see anything close to what he's looking for.

Ignis buys himself a new tie, some expensive hand lotion, and ink refills for his fancy fountain pen. Prompto checks price tags and winces at how much they want for basics, like socks and t-shirts.

"See anything you like?"

"Not really," Prompto says. "The thing I was thinking about isn't in this part of town."

"Then lead the way," Ignis says.

"Let's take the subway. It'll be faster."

Ignis makes a face, but he follows Prompto. A few paces away from the stairs to the station, a young woman is selling watercolor paintings on the sidewalk. Prompto stops to admire her work.

Each one is beautiful, most of them landscapes in bright colors, but it's the painting of a sylleblossom in vivid blues and greens that captures his interest.

"I want that one," he says and hands over his card.

The artist is pleased he likes her work and thanks him profusely for his patronage. She wraps it in paper and Prompto pictures Luna opening it, wherever it is she might be.

"A fine purchase. Both expensive and unnecessary," Ignis says as they walk away. "Though, I am surprised by your choice."

"It's not for me," Prompto says. "It's a gift."

"Do tell," Ignis says. "A young lady, perhaps?"

"Um, well, uh, she's, you know, an old friend," Prompto says as a blush creeps up on him. "Her birthday's coming up. I think. Maybe."

If Ignis' curiosity is piqued, he doesn't show it.

"Then it will make a fine gift," Ignis says. "You have good taste, and I'm sure she will appreciate it. But do be sure to purchase something for yourself as well."

They take the subway to Prompto's old neighborhood. He hadn't planned on coming back here. Not on the same day his mother admitted she felt nothing for him. Nor ever, but he also didn't plan on a sudden windfall. There's more money in his account than he's had in his entire life combined. Luna's gift aside, there's only one thing he really wants, and for the first time since he laid eyes on it, he has more than enough to afford it.

The store he seeks is in the opposite direction of his old apartment. It sells second-hand household items and clothing, but also a selection of electronics, jewelry and musical instruments that people have sold to make ends meet.

A block from the store, Prompto runs into a kid that lives in his old building.

"Prompto? Is that you?"

"Yep. It's me."

"I haven't seen you in forever!" Caine says. "After your dad got beat up, I thought something happened to you, too. You kinda disappeared on us."

This is news to Prompto. His father can be an intimidating man, and it's hard to picture him laid low.

"My dad got beat up?"

"Yeah, says some foreign dudes kicked the crap out of him on his way home from the bar," Caine says. "Figured you knew."

"I don't live there anymore," Prompto says. Saying it out loud stings, but it's also liberating. "I'm, uh, with the Crownsguard now."

"Really? That's awesome, dude!"

"Yeah, it kinda is," Prompto says. "Anyway, if you see my old man, you let him know that, okay? Tell him I'm one of Prince Noctis' personal guard."

"Bet he'll be proud to hear it," Caine says. "Gotta run. See you around, buddy!"

He watches the kid go. It's a strange duality, to have one foot on either side of the line. He tries to picture Caine, who is not so unlike himself in many ways, as a commoner that hung out with some of the most powerful people in the city. It's hard to imagine, and he wonders, not for the first time, how he even got here.

The Lokton is still in the window when they arrive at the store. He stares at it from the sidewalk and thinks of how many times he's stood in this same spot and daydreamed about it.

"Ah. I see," Ignis says. "Are you sure you don't want something more modern? I saw several new ones in the shopping district."

"Nope," Prompto says. "It's old, but the pictures it takes are way better than any of those fancy new ones."

"You're the expert," Ignis says. "Shall we go inside?"

* * *

_Dear Prompto,_

_I was surprised and delighted to receive your gift, and I am humbled that you thought of me. It's lovely and I will cherish it always. Sylleblossoms are, of course, my favorite. Thank you so much for remembering._

_I am pleased to hear you are enjoying your training, though it sounds as though your days are quite full. Be sure to take time to rest and enjoy being young as well. Go outside and take your photographs. Stand in the sunshine. Laugh with your friends. The duties of adulthood leave precious little time for relaxation and there will be plenty of years ahead of you to work. For now, be what you are, take your time, find yourself, and you won't look back on these years with regret._

_How fares our Crazy Cat Lady? His letters are often short and contain no mention of his well being. I often find myself scanning the lines and picking apart his words to determine his state of mind, but always come up without an answer. I understand his father is not in the best of heath and this endless war drags on, so perhaps he is preoccupied. Please do ensure he also takes time for himself, so long as it doesn't involve extensive and excessive napping._

_Thank you for the beautiful painting, and I keep you in my prayers._

_Yours,_

_Luna_

* * *

_Dear Luna,_

_We're coming up on our university entrance exams, and Iggy's got the pressure on the Crazy Cat Lady right now. It's stressing him out a little. Heck, it's stressing me out too, and I'm not sure if I'm going to University or not. Cor and Gladio think I should go full time with the Crownsguard after graduation, and I kind of wanted to maybe possibly do something with my photography after I graduate. Maybe open a studio or sell prints to travel magazines. I'd have to do some traveling to make that happen, but I can't do that if I'm stuck in class. I mean, my grades are good enough to get in, thanks to Iggy, but I'm just not sure if higher education will give me much of an advantage if all I want to do is take pictures._

_And I'm not sure what happened but Noct and his dad aren't seeing eye to eye right now. There's been some tension and Noct won't talk about it except to say he finally did as his dad asked and stepped up, and he's getting some grief for it. All I know is he gets this weird look whenever you mention it._

_Stuff's going on in the city, too. You can feel this tension when you walk around. I don't usually notice stuff like that, but it's starting to bleed into everything. There's a lot of violence happening in the outer neighborhoods, a lot of crime, and people are blaming refugees for it. Iggy says it's scapegoating, but I'm not sure what's true because the news says something different. Makes me nervous, you know? I guess it's the war and all. Everyone's on edge. Iggy says it's gotten to the point where Insomnia is basically an island surrounded by hostile cannibals just waiting to eat us alive. Meanwhile, people who don't want to live under the Empire's thumb come to Insomnia for protection with barely more than the clothes on their backs._

_You probably already know all this. I'm only now paying attention to news and politics because Iggy makes me watch broadcasts and learn about this stuff in exchange for getting to sample his latest culinary creation. It's a fair trade I think. I don't feel so dumb when people talk about what's going on, and I get to eat all these great things I've never tried before._

_I'm gonna take pictures of Iggy's meals and send them to you. They're works of art. He has a gift, but I swear, either my pants are shrinking or there are a lot more calories in his food than he admits to. Which is not good for me, the reformed over-eater. But Gladio says some of the extra mass is muscle, so I guess I shouldn't worry too much. I just don't want to go back to that place. I worked really hard to get healthy, so I sort of get hung up on every pound I gain. That's probably not healthy either, but I felt really bad about myself for being chubby when I was a kid, and I don't want it to be an issue ever again._

_Hope you're doing well. I saw you on the news a few days ago and it was so weird to think that after all this time, and after all these letters, I feel like I know you, but we've never met in person. Maybe someday we can fix that. Maybe, if I become a super famous photog, I can come visit. I think Noctis would really like to see you again, too, even if he never says it. You should see the look on his face when Umbra shows up with your notebook! Maybe I'll get a picture of it and send it to you. I'll have to be sneaky about it, and he'd kill me if he knew, but it's like he's a different person for a minute._

_Look at me, rambling on. Maybe I'm trying to make up for the Crazy Cat Lady's shortcomings insofar as his letters. I'll stop now, but give Pryna a belly rub for me, okay?_

_Your buddy,_

_Prompto_

* * *

"You've come a long way, Prompto," Cor says as Prompto wipes his brow and holsters his training pistol. "I have confidence you'll be ready should the need arise."

Prompto's cheeks warm and he bows his head at the compliment. Cor does not throw out praise often, so when he gives it, he really means it.

"T-thanks," Prompto says. "I won't let you down, sir."

"That said," Cor says, "you need to work on your confidence. You're an excellent shot, you're fast, and you're at the top of the curve when it comes to completing the timed trials. There's no reason to second guess yourself."

Confidence has always been an issue. His troubled childhood, combined with the sense that he's an impostor in this world undermine him. He is eighteen, and he's grown stronger, and he's got the approval of the Marshal, and that should be enough, but he still doubts himself in a thousand ways.

"Thank you, sir. I'll work on it."

"And watch your six," Cor says. "Always be aware of what's behind you. Not checking your blind spots can get you killed."

Prompto nods. "Gotcha. I'll work on that, too, sir."

"Good," Cor says. "Report to Monica tomorrow afternoon. She'll oversee your self-defense and first-aid training twice a week from now on."

"I will," Prompto says. "And, you know, thanks."

"You said that already," Cor says with a hint of a smile. "Confidence, remember?"

"Yeah. Confidence."

Cor pauses and looks Prompto over.

"I trust you're doing well outside of training?"

"I'm doing great," Prompto says. He pats his stomach. "Though Iggy's doing his best to fatten me up. My grades are good. Graduating soon."

"Glad to hear it," Cor says. "I'll see you next week."

Prompto heads home, showers, and gathers his stuff for his usual weekend at Noctis' place. He spends most weekends there now, to give Ignis a break and to hang out with his best buddy. They don't do much but watch movies and play games, and Prompto visits the children's hospital on Saturday afternoons, whether or not Noctis goes too.

On the table is a package with his name on it. He tears the paper off and opens the box to find a graduation cap and gown inside.

"Woohoo!" he cries and holds it up to see if it will fit.

Included in the box are a set of announcements. He runs his fingers over the thick, cream-colored paper and reads his name on the inscription inside.

Luna's the only one he wants to send one to, but he's proud just the same.

* * *

"There's nothing I can do at present," King Regis says. "I understand where you're coming from, but we've been over this Noctis. We are at war, and our resources are stretched thin as it is. I cannot do anything until we are able to regain control of our territories. Until then, sacrifices must be made."

"So you're just going to let citizens of Lucis starve on the streets?" Noctis says. "They're  _your_  people. You were supposed to protect them."

"So I was, and I have failed," Regis says. He limps across the parlor of his suite and takes a seat by the window. "You do not know what it's like to watch our territories fall one by one and not be able to do anything about it."

"Then take them back," Noctis says.

Regis sighs and shakes his head. "You are young and know nothing of war. You do not know the cost of upholding the wall. It takes it's toll. I'm tired... I can only do so much."

"What's the point of being King if you don't have the power to change things?" Noctis asks. "Or maybe, you only care about those from Insomnia and everyone else can fend for themselves."

"I have to take a meeting, Noctis," Regis says tiredly. "We'll discuss this later."

Noctis throws his hands up and storms from the room. They've had this same argument for some time now, and it always ends the same way. His father, the King, the most powerful man in the city, can do nothing. Noctis, his successor, can only show up to volunteer or hand out cash from the Citadel's coffers when he has it. It isn't enough.

He still thinks about that woman and her children in the alleyway. Had he not gone off to avenge Prompto, he would not have known Insomnia wore a veneer of wealth and power that hid the undeniable truth that the city was not what it seemed. Had he not seen her, he'd probably still be content to sit in his apartment and play games or sleep until Ignis forced him out of bed.

That part of town is known by the refugees as the Waiting Room. It's where the most in need people gather to wait for either death or salvation. Jobs are few, people live in one room apartments where every spare inch of floor is dedicated to bedrolls. There are no shelters or soup kitchens. There is only the long wait for something to change.

Noctis wants to help in any way he can, but there's no easy solution. In a city as prosperous as Insomnia, there shouldn't be a problem, but there is. Maybe, if his father was willing to pass a law that prevented employers from refusing work to outsiders, it would be a start. Maybe, if the only way to get work wasn't to join the Kingsglaive, they would prosper.

He drives to meet Gladio for training, and weaves in and out of traffic, his foot on the gas pedal, and his mind everywhere but on the road. Horns blare and a few people give him the finger, but Noctis doesn't care. Ignis isn't here to reprimand him.

The first few minutes of his session are intense as Noctis takes his frustration out on Gladio. He warps around the room faster than Gladio can track and lands hit after hit until Gladio holds up his hands to signal the end of the fight.

"What's got you so worked up?" Gladio asks.

"It's nothing," Noctis says. "Are we done here, or do you wanna go for round two?"

For over an hour, Noctis pummels Gladio with the best he's got until he's spent and panting on the floor. Gladio nudges him with his boot.

"You know, if you trained like that everyday, you'd be years ahead of where you are now," Gladio says. "I like the hustle. Keep it up."

"Yeah, great," Noctis says and sits up. "We done here?"

"You need to get something off your chest?"

"No," Noctis says. "I just want to go home."

* * *

Noctis' cupboards are bare, save a lone Cup Noodles and a stale bag of chips.

"Dude, there's nothing to eat."

Prompto takes the chip bag from the cupboard to dispose of it. Ants spill out of it and Prompto yelps as they crawl up his arm.

"Dude! You've got ants!" Prompto complains and flails around the kitchen to get them off. "Ugh! I hate bugs!"

Noctis looks up from his place on the couch and pauses his game.

"There's some spray under the sink."

Prompto stares at him for a second, incredulous. Then, he sighs and retrieves the can of spray and hoses the cabinet and countertop down.

"So, did Ignis forget to go grocery shopping this week, or what?"

"I forgot to give him my grocery list," Noctis says. "He's teaching me a lesson about being responsible for myself. Hence, ants and no food."

That sounds like Iggy. Prompto opens the refrigerator to find a single egg in a carton, a take-out box so old he can't identify what it was, and a bottle of ketchup. He closes the door and scratches his head and looks to his friend for an explanation.

"How long ago was that?"

"Monday."

"Did you, I don't know, maybe make a list when you figured out he wasn't going to do his part until you did your part?"

Noctis shrugs and goes back to his game.

"Okay, then," Prompto says. "Take-out it is. What are you in the mood for?"

"Don't care."

"You say that, then I order something spicy -"

"Get whatever you want," Noctis says. "Not really hungry."

"You mad about something?" Prompto asks. "You want me to go?"

"No, I don't want you to go," Noctis says. "Just... it's this thing with my dad. It's not you."

"You... wanna talk about it?"

"Same thing, different day," Noctis says. "Go on and get something to eat. Maybe grab me some chips and snack cakes while you're out."

"Sure you don't want something else?"

"Nope."

Prompto calls a take-out restaurant a few blocks away and orders their spiciest stir-fry with plain rice and an order of pot-stickers for Noctis, just in case he changes his mind. If he knows Noct, he will.

"Back in a jiffy," he says as he heads out.

The evening is warm and the street is lit up with neon signs that advertise banks and movies and cleaning products. Cars move at a crawl and the sidewalk is crowded.

Prompto loves the bustle of downtown. All these people, going about their lives, all that activity and urgency. Sometimes, he wonders where they're all going.

A few blocks ahead, across from the convenience store, a small parade of people march in a circle outside the subway. They carry signs that demand equal rights for refugees, equal pay and equal opportunities for jobs.

He feels for them. He's heard things around town and seen things on the news about how difficult it is to survive here as a refugee. The media portrays them as lazy layabouts who would prefer lives of squalor and crime to an honest job. Prompto doubts that's true.

They shout at him from across the street and wave their signs. City Police hang back on the fringes, batons at the ready in case they get out of line, but to Prompto, it looks like these people just want to be heard.

He ducks into the convenience store for Noct's snacks. He browses the isles until he locates Noctis' favorite chips, snack cakes and grabs a couple of colas from the cooler.

As he approaches the counter to pay, two men burst in, guns drawn.

"Open the cash drawer," one of them demands. "Now!"

The terrified clerk gapes at them, but doesn't open the drawer. Prompto freezes, unsure of what to do.

There are two men in front of him with guns. There are police right outside. He's trained for the last two years to fight and defend. He's a member of the Crownsguard. He needs to act.

Cor believes in him. He just needs confidence.

The cashier draws his own weapon from under the counter, and the robber's finger twitches on the trigger.

Prompto stops thinking and lunges forward and tackles the man to the ground before he can shoot the cashier. A blast of gunfire ricochets through the store as something sharp and hot stabs at Prompto's side on the way down.

He's practiced this in training, but it never got his heart pumping like this and he's never been this scared. He uses elbows and knees to injure and subdue, and they knock over a rack of peanuts as they each fight for control of the gun.

The other man and the cashier are in a silent stand-off with one another, neither willing to let the other out of their sights, and neither willing to pull the trigger.

Prompto gains control of the gun, wrenches it away from the first man and turns it on the second.

"Drop it," he says and pushes to his feet. "Put it on the floor and kick it to me."

The perp is unsure of who to aim at. The armed cashier, or Prompto.

"You've got two on you, dude," Prompto says. "You're not gonna win. Put the gun down, okay?"

The cashier, in a panic, turns his aim to something behind Prompto and pulls the trigger. The blast is deafening and Prompto is knocked backwards as the round hits him in the chest. He meets the cashier's shocked, wide eyes as he falls. The bullet was not meant for him.

Prompto forgot to watch his six.

Big mistake.

It knocks the breath from his lungs and he can't seem to draw another. His vision goes fuzzy and unfocused, and colors melt together like watercolors in the rain. He struggles to get up but his body won't cooperate. Rivers of something warm and wet spill down the sides of his ribcage and he smells gunpowder and warm copper and floor cleaner.

Beside the cooler, a man in too many layers for the warm weather tips his fedora and smiles. Tears of black spill down the man's cheeks and his eyes are bottomless holes darker than the ink in Ignis' fountain pens. He kneels beside Prompto and passes a hand over Prompto's face, then removes the band from his wrist. Prompto tries to protest, but he's too weak to fight back.

He presses his palm to the wound in Prompto's chest and something nasty slithers and ripples beneath his skin. There's a sickly, wet rattle in his lungs and his thunderous but unsteady heartbeat drowns out the rising sirens in the distance. He's never been this cold in his life.

The man caresses his face again, smiles, and stands.

"Let the games begin," the man says. "Sleep well, dear sweet Prompto."

* * *

Ignis takes his car keys from the peg by the door, assures he has his briefcase, and steps out into the hall. He's on his way to dinner with his Uncle at a swanky new restaurant downtown he's heard good things about. Eager to try new cuisine, Ignis does not notice the pair of Kingsglaive at the end of the hall until they're already near.

Their dress and posture convey they are here on official business. He stays where he is, expecting them to stop at one of the other doors in the hall, but as they draw closer, it becomes clear their business is with him.

"Might I help you gentlemen?"

"Are you Ignis Stupeo Scientia?"

"That I am."

"Put your hands up. You're under arrest for aiding and abetting an Imperial fugitive and conspiracy to commit treason."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you guys for all the kudos and comments! I'm overwhelmed by the response this has gotten and I appreciate every one of you!
> 
> From now on, this will update Thrusdays or Fridays, depending on my schedule.


	4. Steel and Brass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a day early due to a schedule change. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the kudos and comments guys! I'm still astounded by the response to this, and I'm so happy you're reading!

Noctis is dozing on the couch when his phone rings. He opens one eye and checks the time on the display before he looks at the number, sits up, cracks his neck and fumbles for the answer button.

It's been almost three hours since Prompto left to get food. It's not unlike Prompto to get distracted and lose track of time, but three hours is a new record. Noctis wonders what's keeping him as he answers Gladio's call.

"Where are you?" Gladio demands.

"At home. Where else?" Noctis stifles a yawn and goes to the window to look out at the city lights. "What's up?"

"I've got some real bad news," Gladio says. "Prompto's been shot and Iggy was arrested an hour ago."

Noctis freezes. He's not sure which part to address first.

"Shot? How did he get shot?" he asks. "And what do you mean  _arrested_?"

"I don't know a lot, but it's not good," Gladio says. "Source says Ignis is being accused of treason. Prompto apparently tried to stop a robbery and got shot in the process."

There's no one more loyal to the Crown than Ignis. Noctis can't picture straight-laced, polished, by-the-book Ignis stepping a toe out of line, let alone plotting a conspiracy.

Prompto, well, he was the guy that walked elderly people across the street and carried groceries for overburdened mothers. As worrisome as it is, Noctis can almost picture how it played out.

"Is he all right?"

"They won't tell me anything and they're not letting anyone near him," Gladio says, "but you better get your ass down here. It's not looking good."

"All right," Noctis says and goes off in search of his trainers. "Be there as soon as I can."

Noctis arrives at the hospital to find Gladio in the waiting room. He stands against the wall, arms folded, so lost in thought he doesn't see Noctis approach. Gladio takes him aside, down an empty corridor so they can speak privately.

"What's up? Any news?" Noctis asks.

Gladio scratches his chin.

"None of it's good. Turns out your good buddy Prompto's a Niff," Gladio says. "Ignis knew. That's why they arrested him."

"I've known Prompto since elementary school," Noctis says. "He's  _not_  a Niff. There's no way."

"They're saying they have evidence otherwise," Gladio says. "Won't tell me what it is, but it looks like Prompto was a spy."

"Prompto?!" Noctis laughs because if he doesn't, he's going to scream. "Are you kidding me? He gets lost on the way to the bathroom."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's just part of the act," Gladio says. "You don't think it was suspicious how he was always following you around with a camera? How he just one day decided he was going to be your friend and wormed his way into your life? How a kid from a working-class neighborhood wound up not only your best friend but a member of the Crownsguard?"

"If it was so suspicious, why didn't you stop him?" Noctis demands. Gladio has a fair point, but Nocits won't acknowledge it. There's no way any of this is true. "Why did you let him hang around?"

"I couldn't find anything to justify chasing him off," Gladio says. "And believe me, I looked."

Fuming, Noctis steps up to Gladio, toe to toe.

"What about Ignis?" Noctis asks. "You don't trust him either?"

"Maybe he got roped into something he couldn't get out of," Gladio says. "And yeah, he made himself suspicious, too, when he took in an up-jumped commoner who turned out to be a Niff spy out of pity."

"How  _dare_  you," Noctis says and shoves Gladio. "You're going to eat those words when I prove you wrong."

Gladio shoves Noctis back, and Noctis stumbles. He's tempted to take a swing, but he's no match for Gladio if it comes to blows. Noctis is pissed off, but he's not stupid.

"You think I want to believe all this? About either of them?" Gladio growls. "They're saying they have  _proof_ , Noct. Get your head around that, accept it, and figure out what we're going to do, because before long, they're going to start asking questions, and you're going to have to answer them."

Noctis steps back and bows his head. He leans against the wall and considers what kind of proof they could possibly have. It has to be more than Prompto following him around with a camera, but nothing stands out as particularly suspicious. Prompto, for the most part, is an open book.

"It has to be a mistake," Noctis says.

"That's what I'm hoping," Gladio says. "Guess we'll have to wait and see."

* * *

Ignis sits in an interrogation room inside the Citadel and waits for someone to come for him. He's cuffed to the chair and the table, though he surrendered without a fight. They know he's skilled at combat, and they know he's spent a lifetime studying strategy. They're not taking any chances.

He has no doubt this has everything to do with Prompto, but he does not believe the charges. Prompto is no spy, and Ignis is prepared to accept the consequences of keeping his secret. He knew the risk and took it anyway out of compassion.

Ignis watches the clock and waits. It's an intimidation tactic meant to break him. The longer he must wait, the more on edge he will be, and the more likely he is to fall apart. Ignis is prepared for this, and he is unperturbed by the wait. He spends the time considering unusual but complementary herb and spice combinations for steak, and whether or not a currant sauce would enhance the flavor of grilled fowl.

It's another hour before anyone comes to speak with him.

She breezes into the room, Titus Drautos in her wake, and she takes a seat in the chair across from him like a regal and haughty swan upon a calm lake. She smooths down her helmet of snowy white hair and looks him over like she would rather be anywhere but here. Drautos greets him with a curt nod and stands behind her, a glorified body guard.

"Good evening, Mr. Scientia," she says. "Do you understand why you're here?"

That's a loaded question. Ignis understands in the intellectual sense but he's unsure of the circumstances that led to his arrest.

"Perhaps you could explain," he says.

"Tell me about Prompto," she says instead.

"Not much to tell," Ignis says. "He's a classmate and friend of Prince Noctis and a recent inductee of the Crownsguard."

"So I understand," she says. "And, he's been staying with you for the last two years?"

"He has," Ignis says.

"That's quite unusual."

Ignis gives a wan smile and a shrug. "I suppose it is."

"Do you make a habit of taking in common, underage boys?"

Ignis tenses and narrows his eyes. This is not the direction he expected this conversation might take, and he's disgusted by both the question and her tone.

"What exactly am I being accused of?" he asks mildly.

"It's just a question, Mr. Scientia," she says. "I'm trying to understand why a person from a noble family such as yourself would invite a boy his age into his home."

"It's not that difficult to understand," Ignis says. "Prompto's father was abusive. I merely offered him a refuge after a particularly nasty beating, and I don't appreciate the insinuation that I may have had an inappropriate relationship with a minor."

"Rather defensive answer, Mr. Scientia."

"Rather strong accusation."

"I accused you of nothing."

Ignis temples his cuffed hands together. By law, he isn't required to disclose any information unless he's under oath. He has all the power here, though she believes otherwise.

"I didn't get your name," he says.

"Anima Comedentis," she says. "I'm the lead investigator for this case."

"I see," Ignis says. "In the future, it's probably best to start with that. Might I speak with my lawyer?"

"No, you may not," she says.

"Then, anything I say is strictly off the record and inadmissible in court, is it not?"

Comedentis is thrown, but she reassembles her former bored expression in an instant.

"We're just trying to piece together why a prominent member of the Citadel's staff harbored a spy."

"Prompto is no spy," Ignis says. "The very idea is laughable."

"We have evidence, Mr. Scientia."

"I assume you mean the bar code on his arm."

"So you admit you knew about it," Drautos says.

"I did," Ignis says. "Prompto came to Insomnia as a very young child. He has no memory of it and no ties to Niflheim that I am aware of, and quite honestly, he knew nothing of its origin. I was looking into the possibility that he'd been kidnapped or rescued from one of the Magitek facilities as an infant. It would explain why he's here and why he was never told where it came from."

"That remains to be seen," Comedentis says.

"Have you asked him?"

She smiles. "I plan to. If he survives."

"He's been injured?"

"Prompto was involved in the attempted robbery of a convenience store downtown," she says. "The clerk says he attempted to disarm and diffuse the situation and was shot twice. The paramedics discovered the bar code, alerted authorities, who lead us to you. He's currently in surgery, but the doctors don't expect him to live through the night."

Ignis bows his head and says a silent prayer for Prompto.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," he says. "He is a good boy."

"He could prove a valuable source of information on the Empire's secret intelligence network within the city," Drautos says. "We would prefer him alive."

"How compassionate of you," Ignis says. He looks up, collects himself and looks Comedentis in the eye. "I have said all I have to say."

"The more you cooperate now, the more likely we'll be able to reduce your sentence," she says.

"If you expect me to lie to save myself, you'll be sorely disappointed," Ignis says. "I'd like to speak with my lawyer, if it's all the same to you."

"You're not doing yourself any favors, Scientia," Drautos says.

"Be that as it may, I have nothing more to add without legal representation, as is my right under the law."

"You face execution," Drautos says. "These are very grave accusations."

Ignis flashes a placid, benign smile and folds his hands on the table.

"You will not intimidate me into disclosing anything else until I speak with my attorney."

"Fine. Have it your way," Comedentis says. "Drautos, have him taken to the lock up. Give him our finest cell."

* * *

Prompto floats in and out of consciousness, a steady beep and a mechanical hiss the only sound to keep him company. His body is numb and he can't lift his head. The only thing he can see are ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights.

There's something over his face and mouth and he wants to take it off, but his arms are tied down with bricks.

When he sleeps, his dreams are full of darkness, of monsters bleeding from the earth, of light fading from the world. Sometimes, he is the darkness that poisons everything he touches.

It's four days before he's able stay awake longer than a minute or two. When he does, no one will speak to him. Not the doctors. Not the Kingsglaive at the door. It's like being invisible, like he's not really there, and he starts to wonder if he's already dead and his brain hasn't noticed yet.

His friends don't come visit. Not Noctis. Not Ignis. Not Gladio. No one.

It's another two days before he starts to piece together what happened. Not because anyone tells him, but because of what he remembers. Because of the missing band on his wrist.

They know.

That's why none of them have come to see him, why not even the doctors will look him in the eye.

Prompto's feared this for so long, nearly every thought and interaction was censored for fear of the truth coming out. He's been waiting for the other shoe to drop for so long, it's almost a relief that it has. Even if his heart is broken, and hope has abandoned him, there are no more secrets, no more lies, and he doesn't have to hide anymore.

As soon as he can get out of bed on his own, he's transported to the jail. He expected nothing less, but the gravity of the fate awaiting him doesn't hit until the door slams behind him, and he's left to a small four by six cage with a thin cot and a toilet.

Then, there's nothing to do but wait.

He sleeps sitting up, his back to the wall, eats the bland meals they bring him twice a day, and tries not to think about his friends or what they must think of him now that they know the truth.

For two days, he sits alone in the quiet cell and waits for the inevitable sentence to be passed.

When someone finally comes, it's the man he saw in the convenience store as he lay on the floor bleeding out. There are no black tears on his cheeks this time, and his eyes are amber instead of bottomless pits.

Prompto thought the man was a product of his blood-starved brain, a hallucination and nothing more. He sits up as the man drags a fingertip across the bars of the cell door. His smile is benign, but Prompto's skin crawls at the sight of him.

"Tell me. How do you like your new home, Prompto?" he asks. "The food good? The bed soft? The atmosphere to die for?"

Prompto doesn't answer him. He doesn't know why this guy is here, or what he wants, but it's seriously giving him the creeps.

"Poor little Prompto," the man says. "All your friends have abandoned you, and for what? A silly little mark. What good, loyal friends they all must be."

The man laughs and grips the bars of the door. In Prompto's chest, something slithers, and a steady throb, like a second heartbeat, pulses in his eardrums, out of sync and too loud. His skin grows hot, then cold, then hot again. His vision clouds and the ground around the man's feet swirls a deep black chasm.

"Who are you?" Prompto asks. He tries to sound tougher than he is, but his throat is dry and he hasn't spoken out loud in days. That second pulse beats in his parched tongue. "What do you want?"

"Who are you? What do you want?" the man mocks. "So many questions."

"Cut the crap, dude," Prompto says. "Just tell me what you want."

"I do hope you're enjoying the gift I gave you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your life, of course," he says. "If not for me, you would have died in that store, all alone."

Prompto shivers and pushes himself as far against the wall as he can, but here's nowhere to go and nowhere to hide.

"I understand what that's like, Prompto. I know how empty and powerless you feel," he says. "Alone and forsaken."

"Shut up," Prompto says under his breath. "Just shut up."

"So ungrateful," the man says. "But, I have another gift for you."

He holds something in the palm of his hand, something that glitters gold in the dim light, and extends it through the bars. Prompto stays where he is, and the man tosses it across the room. It lands on themattress at Prompto's feet with a soft thump.

"The bullet, that nearly took your life. Amazing, how something so small can cause so much damage." He tips his hat, smiles, and bows dramatically. "Do take care Prompto. Till next we meet."

He walks away, trailing darkness in his wake. Prompto blinks at the spot where he stood, but the concrete floor is just concrete. He notes the absence of retreating footsteps, the silence around him too absolute for his visitor to be real.

A hallucination, then. Maybe his wound isn't as healed as they thought. Maybe it's become infected and he's having fever dreams.

He shivers and wraps an arm around his middle, and that weird double beat in his chest fades away. From the mattress, he picks up the bullet and holds it between his thumb and forefinger. It looks pretty real to him.

They treat him like he's dangerous when they come to take him for interrogation. Four guards with guns, a man from the Kingsglaive, and a woman in a smart pantsuit escort him to a brightly lit room upstairs and cuff him to a chair.

"Hello, Prompto," the woman says. "I finally get to speak with you."

He doesn't know who she is, but she reminds him of a snake. She appears bored, but her eyes are sharp, watchful, hungry.

She introduces herself as Anima Comedentis, her companion Titus Drautos of the Kingsglaive.

"You're in some serious trouble, Prompto," she says. "Do you understand what you're being charged with?"

"Nobody wants to tell me what the charges are," he says, "so... no."

"In short, you've been accused of being an Imperial spy," she says. "Your parents have confirmed you are not of Lucian birth."

"What are you guys going to do to me?" he asks.

"That depends," Comedentis says. "Come clean and tell us how you managed to fool the Prince and his associates, who you're passing information on to and how, and maybe we can cut you a deal in exchange for your cooperation."

"I never never meant to fool anyone," he says. "I had a hard enough time just being me."

Prompto stares at the mark on his wrist. He should have known it would come to this. A secret this big couldn't stay hidden forever.

"Who is your contact?" Drautos asks.

"I don't have a contact?"

"How do you communicate with the Empire?"

"I don't."

"Electronically? A double blind, perhaps?"

"I don't even know what that means," Prompto says. "I'm telling you, I'm not a spy."

"Is it someone in the Crownsguard?"

"I don't... I'm not passing information on to anyone," Prompto says. "I swear."

"Who are you sending the photographs to, Prompto?"

"No one!" he cries.

"Tell us the truth," Drautos says. "You're not helping yourself by lying."

"Dude, I didn't ask for this!" he shouts and holds up his wrist. "I don't really even know it means or why it's there!"

He's shaking and he can't control the tears that spill down his cheeks. That slithering thing from before threatens to come out and he fights it, short of breath and afraid he's going to fall apart. The still-pink scar on his chest throbs and burns, and that second heartbeat pulses in his limbs. He's sick and hot and scared, but he's not going to cry in front of them.

They keep firing questions at him until he slams his palm against the table. He grits his teeth and sits forward, desperate to be heard.

"I'm  _not_  a spy. I just wanted to be a normal kid with a normal life, and I don't know anything about the Empire except what I hear on the news," Prompto says. "I can't tell you anything more than that because there  _isn't_  anything else."

"Just tell us the truth, Prompto," Comedentis says. "Tell us the truth, and all this will be over with."

"I'm telling the truth," Prompto says and ducks his head. "All I wanted was to be Noctis' friend.  _That_  is the truth."

* * *

Ignis requests he be allowed to wear his best suit for the hearing. After all, a man should endeavor to look his best in public, and it would be a crime to be sentenced to death wearing drab prison blues.

To his surprise, his wish is granted. On the day of the hearing, they allow him a shower and a shave and return his glasses to him. He's escorted to an empty cell to dress in his favorite tailored three-piece Westwood suit. Someone has taken care to starch the shirt and a pair of gold cuff links shaped like daggers are in the pocket of the jacket.

There's also a note, folded into a small square no bigger than a postage stamp.

He unfolds it and recognizes Gladio's handwriting. All capital letters, each one boxy and precise.

WALK TALL. YOU GOT THIS.

Neither of his friends have been allowed to visit. He hasn't seen either for more than a week, his last conversation with Noctis a discussion about taking responsibility for himself. The last meeting with Gladio concerned the security detail for Noctis' upcoming graduation.

He understands why he's been isolated. King Regis would want Noctis to be kept as distant as possible from the scandal. He knows both Gladio and Noctis have been interrogated, but he doesn't know the outcome of the questioning. He knows Prompto is somewhere down in this hole with him, but whether or not he lives or dies is still up in the air, but Ignis also knows they have been unable to prove anything, except that Prompto is tattooed in a manner similar to the MT's.

What that truly means, no one knows.

Once dressed, Ignis is marched from his cell by four armed guards and Titus Drautos. They leave him free of handcuffs and Ignis assumes this is due to the four rifles at his back. He does not speak or show any outward sign of distress, though on the inside, he is less secure in his belief this will end well.

They pass several empty cells, but Ignis stops when he sees Prompto. The boy sits on his cot, his back to the wall and his chin against his knees. He meets Ignis' gaze and stares back with empty eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches downward and betrays his attempt at stoicism.

Ignis is sorry it has come to this. He is sorry Prompto must suffer through this alone. He is sorry he didn't find out where Prompto came from or what he was, and the boy doesn't deserve any of this.

Over time, Ignis' fondness for Prompto has grown strong, and that paternal instinct to protect and defend is stronger than his instinct toward self-preservation. If there is anything he can do to ensure Prompto's life is not at an end, Ignis will do it, even at the cost of Noctis' comfort.

Noctis will be fine without him. Considerably less well fed, but fine. Prompto's fate, however, hinges on Ignis' testimony.

He only has a second, but he slips Gladio's note from his pocket and flicks it through the bars.

"Are you well, Prompto?" he asks.

"Hey, eyes forward, Scientia."

"It'll all work out," he says. "You are not alone."

"Hate to get blood on that fancy suit of yours, Scientia," Drautos says.

"He's just a scared boy," Ignis says calmly. "I'm merely trying to offer a little comfort."

"He's a Nif. There's no sympathy for Nifs around here."

Ignis is hit in the back with the butt of a rifle.

"Move it."

"Indeed," Ignis says. "I've been made to wait far too long for this as it is. Shall we, gentlemen?"

The hearing takes place in a small board room inside the palace. Ignis maintains his air of calm as everyone is seated. He has a plan. It's a risky one, but if Ignis excels at anything besides domestic, it is strategy. Sometimes, the best strategy is the long shot.

It begins when King Regis takes his seat at the far end of the table, Clarus Amicitia at his side. Investigator Comedentis is to Ignis' right. King Regis clears his throat and levels Ignis with a long, disappointed stare.

"The accusations against you are grave," he says. "If found guilty, they carry the heaviest of sentences."

"So I understand," Ignis says.

"Do you deny these accusations of treason?"

"Wholeheartedly," Ignis says. "I deny them."

"You have admitted you knew the young man was a branded Nif and that you harbored him anyway."

"That is correct," Ignis says.

"At any time did he request your assistance in the passing of information along to the Empire?"

"No. He did not."

"At any time, did you consider the consequences of harboring such a person."

"Yes, I did."

"Explain."

"You are aware of Prompto's home situation?" Ignis asks. The King nods. "I merely chose compassion over prejudice. As far as I know that is not a crime."

"Did you consider the possibility the boy might have injured himself to gain your pity?"

"Never," Ignis says. "He might have been able to orchestrate a black eye and a few bruises, but it's quite difficult to break ones own bones, especially in the manner his were broken."

"I see. And following that?"

"I offered my home as a refuge and my skills as a researcher to assist him in discovering the truth of the matter."

"What truth?"

"The origin of the bar code, of course. It's purpose and meaning," Ignis says. "He said he'd had it since he was young and was only told that it had to stay hidden."

"And what did you learn?"

"Precious little that could help us understand what he was and where he came from."

Regis temples his hands under his chin and considers Ignis' testimony.

"He's just a boy, Your Highness," Ignis says. "A kind-hearted one at that. He's done nothing wrong, I assure you."

Beside Ignis, Comedentis smirks and exchanges a glance with Drautos. It's a loaded look, but one Ignis can't make out the meaning of.

"This is a difficult position you have put me in, Ignis," Regis says. "I trusted you to keep my son safe."

"I understand. I am prepared to accept whatever the consequences."

"Are you prepared to see your own career ruined for this impostor?" Comedentis asks. "Or give your life for him?"

"However he came to be here, Prompto is a loyal citizen of the Crown. He is loyal to his King and to Noctis, and I am aware that you can produce no evidence to the contrary," Ignis says. "So the answer is yes. I am prepared to accept your judgment."

Regis looks at Ignis like a father who has been let down by a son. It stings, but Ignis maintains his visage of calm. He can't allow them to see him falter.

"So be it. Ignis Stupeo Scientia, you are stripped of your title and relieved of your duties as advisor to the Crown Prince. I hereby sentence you to five years probation for your crimes."

Ignis expected worse, but it's bad enough. It's a black mark against his family and his name, but not one that can't be washed away in time. Regardless, he will continue his research in the hopes that Prompto's name will be cleared as well, dead or alive.

"And what of Prompto?" Ignis asks.

"Likely he will be executed."

That is unacceptable. Ignis will happily take his punishment, but he will not quietly accept Prompto's fate.

"You intend to execute a boy who has done nothing wrong," Ignis says. "Beyond a mark on his arm, you have no evidence he has plotted against the crown."

"We can not take the risk."

"Do it, and your son will never speak to you again."

"You are not to concern yourself with Noctis' well being. It is not your duty any longer."

"It's far to late for that, Your Highness," Ignis says. "I gave up my own childhood to ensure your son was cared for in your absence. Forgive me if I can not turn off my feelings in that regard, but do not doubt, if Prompto is put to death without concrete, absolute  _proof_  of his crimes, you will lose any and all faith your son has in you."

"You are out of line."

"I raised him!" Ignis shouts. "Not you! I fed him and and tended his scraped knees and taught him to shave! I held him while he cried, comforted him when he woke from nightmares, and where were  _you_?! I know him, Highness. He will not take this lightly."

The room is completely silent in the moments following Ignis' outburst. No one speaks and no one dares move. Ignis does not break eye contact with his King. If his harsh words earn him a harsher sentence, then so be it. He will not stand for a knee-jerk reaction to that which they do not understand.

"If I may, your Highness," Clarus says.

"What is it?"

"Perhaps an alternative might be considered," Clarus says. "Perhaps we might return him to his homeland as a gesture of good faith."

"Return him to a place he has never been, to the people who created him?" Ignis asks. "That's rather like giving back their confiscated weapons after a battle, don't you think? The Empire will either put him to death, or use him for their intended purpose."

"Then what would you suggest?" King Regis asks.

"Give him a chance to prove his loyalty to the Crown. He is, or was, a trained member of the Crownsguard, after all," Ignis says. "In the meantime, look into how it came to be that a one-year-old with an MT code print was brought here in the first place."

King Regis holds Ignis' gaze across the table. Uncertainty flickers behind his eyes, and Ignis knows he has won.

"I'll take it under consideration," the King says. "Your sentence still stands. You may go."

* * *

Titus Drautos paces the hall outside the conference room and considers the best way to approach the King with his proposal. Had this boy been anyone but the Prince's best friend, his execution would have been swift. No one would question whether or not the boy was a traitor.

This presents Drautos with a rare opportunity. He knows exactly what the boy is, though how he came to be here, Drautos can only speculate. He has suspicions, but no proof.

It doesn't matter. Not really. The threads are already unraveling. The unrest in the city will tear at the fabric of its power and prove the catalyst for its undoing. Every pull of the thread brings him closer to ending this.

Whether this Prompto is a spy or not, Drautos can use him. The boy is close to the Prince and his advisors and could prove a valuable source of information, either willingly or by his own ignorance. Drautos would prefer it if they were on the same side, and maybe he is, but if not, he can work with it.

Scientia's insubordination was the edge Drautos needed. It planted a seed of doubt that Drautos can use. That outburst deserved applause, and Drautos struggled to keep a straight face. They all played their parts so well.

"Could that have gone more perfectly?" Comedentis whispers in his ear.

Drautos turns to face her and smiles. She's more snake than woman, but Drautos respects that about her.

"We should be grateful for Scientia's moral compass," Drautos says. "He didn't disappoint."

"He should be commended for his loyalty," she says. "Though I've got to say, he must have balls of solid steel."

Drautos' smile broadens. "You sound jealous."

"Steel still melts when you put it to the fire," she says. "We'll see how he fares without his charge."

Scientia and his future are of no concern to Drautos. The young man was just a stepping stone, a puzzle piece that fit nicely into the bigger picture.

"Shall we see if the King has a spare moment?" Drautos asks. "Perhaps we can appeal to that soft heart of his."

Anima Comedentis smiles. She's gotten her first real taste of blood, has found she loves it, and wants more.

"Lead the way, Captain."

* * *

Prompto unfolds the note once Ignis and the guards have gone, and his heart hurts at the words written on the paper. It's a sign that maybe his friends haven't abandoned him, that there's still hope to be had of a reunion, but Prompto is hesitant to allow hope to creep back in. The worst could still happen, with or without their support.

A meal arrives and Prompto eyes the mushy, barely identifiable contents on the plate. Some kind of meat. Mushy, overcooked peas. A paste-like substance that could be potatoes if he squints. His appetite is gone, but he takes a bite of the meat and immediately spits it out. It's gone rancid.

He tosses the tray on the floor, flings himself back onto the cot to wait until the next tray of rotten food arrives, and tests the weight of the bullet the visitor gave him in his palm. It's cool against his skin and he catches a whiff of gunpowder and brass.

Weird, to find comfort in such a dubious offering, from an object that almost killed him.

They come for him before his next meal. Four guards and Titus Drautos. They cuff him and shuffle him out of the cell. No one tells him where they're going, but he guesses this is the end. He starts to sweat an his throat gets tight. As bad as this sucks, Prompto isn't ready to die yet.

"Hey guys?" he says. "If you're about to kill me, you think you could make it quick? I'm not big on pain."

"Shut up."

The muzzle of a rifle pokes him in the back and Prompto resigns himself to his fate.

They take him to a room where King Regis waits. Prompto sees not the King, but Noctis, older, tired and beat down and he wonders if the father's fate is the future that awaits the son.

The guards push him roughly into a chair and Prompto tries not to wince. He keeps his eyes on the table in front of him and resists the temptation to fidget with the cuffs around his wrists. That odd, out of time pulse beats in his fingers and toes and he tightens his fist around the bullet in his hand.

"Prompto Argentum. Your stand accused of treason," the King says. "How do you plead?"

"Not guilty." He almost chokes on the words.

"Do you have anything to say in your own defense?"

"Nothing I haven't said before," Prompto says. "Sir. Your Highness."

"Your friends all vouch for your innocence," the King says. "And it has been pointed out to me that we uncovered no hard evidence of wrongdoing on your part, other than hiding what you are."

What is he? That's the question, isn't it?

Is he just a kid who got a rough start? Or something that by its very nature poses an enormous threat to everyone around him? The fact that he's here suggests he's the latter, but he can't seem to convince anyone it isn't true. It's enough to kill the last remaining shred of hope he'll make it out of this alive.

"I would be derelict in my duties as a father and a King if I didn't take your origins under consideration. It is my duty to take potential threats seriously," the King says. "You may be ignorant of what you are, but it's possible that you've been feeding the Empire information all along without even knowing you were."

Prompto nods, though the second part is something he never considered.

"Am I going to die?" he asks. "Just tell me if that's what's going to happen, okay? I don't want to draw it out. Just get it over with, you know?"

The King sighs and folds his hands on the table.

"My son is quite fond of you," King Regis says. "He doesn't have many friends, and it pains me to have to make this decision. No matter what I choose, Noctis gets hurt. As a father, my instinct is to protect him. As King, it's my duty to protect the Kingdom."

Prompto holds back a groan of complaint. He just wants this over with. No speeches, no lectures, just a resolution, one way or another.

"My council and I have decided that execution is not the answer," he says. "Instead, we are prepared to offer you the opportunity that could help us defeat the Imperial Army. If you are what you say you are, a loyal citizen, then you have a chance to prove it."

Prompto blinks at him, and he struggles to understand the King's declaration.

"I'm... I'm not sure how I can help with that," Prompto says.

"All will be explained to you," the King says, "should you agree to my terms."

Prompto sits up in his chair and struggles to keep the swell of hope at bay.

"So what do you want me to do?"

"You will be remanded to the custody of Titus Drautos of the Kingsglaive," King Regis says. "You will train and fight with them. Prove yourself worthy, and you may even become one of them. And make no mistake, if there is any indication of the charges named here today, you will be put to death."

Prompto opens and closes his mouth, blinks and sputters but can't come out with anything coherent.

The Kingsglaive? Those guys are nuts. In a good way, but they're still nuts. Prompto can't imagine himself surviving even a week of their training, if the rumors are to be believed.

"There is one other stipulation. From this point forward, you are to have no further contact with my son. No phone calls. No messages. No clandestine meetings, no communication by proxy," the King says. "Is that understood?"

No Noct? No Iggy or Gladio? No more delicious food, no games, no hanging out at the arcade. No more terrible puns, no more take-out on a Friday night. He won't graduate alongside Noctis or stand beside him whenever his father decides who he's going to marry.

He's alive, but is a life without friends a worthwhile one?

"Do you agree to these terms?"

Prompto has no idea why the Kingsglaive would want him, or what he can do to help, but it's a better option than death.

He looks up at his King and sees nothing but sorrow in his eyes. Must be tough, being a King, forced to sacrifice his son's happiness for the sake of the Kingdom. In exchange, Prompto can sacrifice his own happiness to ensure Noctis has a future.

"This... what you want me to do, it'll help keep Noctis safe?" Prompto asks.

"We believe it will."

Prompto tightens his fist around the bullet and takes a deep breath.

"Then... yeah. I'll do whatever you guys want. For Noct."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got a private message on fanfic dot net about this update (the person didn't want to publicly call me out), and I feel like I should clarify something here: this isn't going to be much of a ship fic when it comes to romantic pairings. It focuses primarily on friendship with a couple of exceptions later. 
> 
> It's my understanding that friend parings are designated with an & instead of a / in tagging. If this is incorrect, please let me know and I'll fix it to avoid future confusion.


	5. Brotherhood

Ignis returns to his apartment, tired, lost, and in need of a stiff drink. He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it over the back of a chair at the dinner table and rolls up his sleeves.

On the table, Prompto's graduation gown is folded neatly in its box, the cap laid out beside it. Ignis runs his palm over the fabric and sighs. He doubts Prompto will be allowed to walk with his class. Perhaps, he won't even receive his diploma.

Shame. The boy's grades improved significantly in the last two years under Ignis' tutelage.

Behind him, Gladio tosses his leather jacket over the back of the sofa and hands him a bag from the grocery down the street.

"You about to have a meltdown, or what?"

It's not an ideal outcome for either Ignis or Prompto, but far better than it could have been. Still, his heart is heavy and he wonders if there was anything more he could have done to spare everyone involved.

"I'll be alright."

In the kitchen, Ignis sets aside the groceries, retrieves a pair of crystal tumblers from the cabinet, and pours a measure of whiskey into each. He hands one to Gladio and they drink without speaking until their glasses are empty, then Ignis pours another.

"Goddammit, Iggy," Gladio says. "Was it worth it?"

Ignis sips his drink and considers the question.

"Someone had to stand up for the boy."

"What are you tryin' to say?"

"Nothing at all," Ignis says. "I did what I believed was right."

Gladio helps himself to another drink, knocks it back, and wipes a hand down his face.

"Noct know yet?"

"I'm sure he does by now."

"He's gonna be lost without the two of you," Gladio says. "Hell, I'm gonna be lost without you guys around to keep things interesting."

"I'm sure they'll find him a suitable nanny," Ignis says. "Prompto, however... I suppose those are some big shoes to fill."

"Don't sell yourself short," Gladio says. "Noct depends on you. He's not going to take it very well."

Ignis nods his agreement. Noctis will struggle without Ignis there to look after him, but he'll learn to manage on his own. Ignis is confident that Noctis will be fine in the long run.

"It isn't Noctis I'm worried about."

Gladio snorts and pours them both another round. Ignis leaves his glass on the counter, untouched. No sense in overindulging. It won't help anything.

"Kingsglaive is gonna eat that boy alive," Gladio says. "He's gonna wish he was dead."

"Perhaps it's for the best," Ignis says. "He might learn to stand on his own two feet."

"Kid does fall down a lot." Gladio smiles a little, sips his drink, and shakes his head. "Man, it's gonna be quiet around here without all that complaining."

"Is that your way of saying you're fond of him?"

"Well, you know," Gladio says. "He grew on me."

Ignis takes a package chicken cutlets from the grocery bag and puts a skillet on the stove. He heats oil, adds some garlic and basil, a pinch of salt and pepper, and stirs until the aroma fills the kitchen. The chicken sizzles when it hits the hot oil and he starts a pot of water for pasta. He's not hungry, but there's comfort in maintaining a semblance of order and normalcy.

"Staying for dinner?" he asks Gladio.

"If you made enough for two."

"Enough for three, plus seconds."

Ignis prepares a salad and whisks together a light vinaigrette. The water starts to boil and he adds a box of pasta, turns down the heat, and places a lid on the pot. To the chicken, he adds a jar of marinara sauce.

The front door bursts open and Noctis storms inside, his face a picture of rage. Ignis can't remember the last time he saw Noctis this worked up about anything.

"Tell me it isn't true," Noctis says. "Ignis. Tell me."

Ignis stirs the pasta, puts the lid back on the pot and turns to Noctis. He looks his former charge over, at his rumpled school uniform and incorrectly tied tie. Out of habit, he reaches for the tie, then stops himself.

"You shouldn't be here, Noct."

"Ignis. It's not true, right?"

"It's true," Ignis says with a heavy sigh. "I am no longer you caretaker."

"And Prompto?!"

"Also true."

"I need to talk to him," Noctis says.

"You can't," Gladio says. "Part of the terms."

Ignis straightens the lapel of Noctis' rumpled jacket, unable to resist the need to tidy him up. Noctis brushes him off and his face flushes.

"Why?" Noctis asks. "Why didn't either of you tell me?"

"I suspect you know the answer to that."

"He didn't trust me enough," Noctis says.

"I doubt his reasons had anything to do with a lack of trust," Ignis says. "As far as my own part, it wasn't my secret to tell."

Gladio pours Noctis a glass of whiskey, then hauls the boy to the table and pushes him down into a chair.

"It's done, Noct," Gladio says. "Drink up."

Noctis wraps his hands around the glass and closes his eyes.

"I didn't even get to say goodbye."

It pains Ignis to no longer be allowed to comfort his former charge. He looks so young and wounded and so in need of guidance.

"Neither did we," Ignis says. "At least he's still alive."

Noctis tastes the whiskey, makes a face and sets it back down.

"This is all my fault," he says. "If I'd just gone with him, or made that stupid grocery list like you asked-"

"Stop," Ignis says. "Prompto doesn't blame you. He blames himself."

"That doesn't help," Noctis says. "He doesn't deserve this."

"Most don't get what they deserve, good or bad," Ignis says. "But better that he's alive, Noct. Your father could have made a very different decision today, for the both of us."

"My father..." Noctis mutters. He lifts the whiskey glass and downs all of it in a single swallow. "I guess he didn't have much of a choice, huh?"

"Quit your moping," Gladio says. "Your dad had a hard decision to make today. He made the one that would hurt you the least, so stop crying about it and thank the Six it wasn't worse."

Noctis closes his eyes, leans his forehead into his palm and sighs. Gladio grips the juncture of his neck and shoulder and squeezes.

"Time to step up, kid," Gladio says. "You owe it to them."

Ignis checks the pasta, removes it from the heat and drains it. From the cabinet, he takes three plates.

"Join us for dinner, Noct," Ignis says. "After all, this may be the last meal we share for some time."

* * *

 

Prompto is transported to the Kingsglaive barracks and training ground, no longer cuffed, but with nothing more than the prison uniform on his back and the bullet clutched in his palm.

The bullet is a talisman. A reminder of how close he came to death, not once, but twice. It's all he has to keep him from freaking out.

He listens to the radio in the transport van and learns that Ignis has been relieved of his post. Noctis has lost not one, but two friends today, thanks to Prompto's secret.

It's his fault. All of this is his fault.

He should have cut all ties when Ignis discovered the bar code. He should have walked away right then and gone home with his tail between his legs. As much as it would have hurt, it would have been the smarter choice for everyone involved.

They arrive at the barracks and Prompto is taken inside. Others give him a wide berth as Titus Drautos escorts him through the hall, and they look at him like he's a daemon walking around in daylight.

Prompto is not taken to a cell, but to the training yard where several uniformed Kingsglaive spar. One attempts to warp and crashes face-first into the wall. He wonders if Noct ever did that by accident, smiles as he pictures it, then pushes the thought from his mind.

He can't think about Noct anymore.

Drautos takes him by the arm and motions to a man in his late twenties or early thirties. The man approaches with a wan but amused smile like he's sharing a private joke with himself. He comes to a stop and stands at attention before Drautos.

"Sir."

"I told you to stop calling me that," Drautos says. "I've brought you a new recruit."

"Really sir, you shouldn't have."

Drautos crosses his arms and glares at the man.

"I'll put him with the other seven. Sir," he says with a smirk. "Come on, kid."

"Not yet," Drautos says. "There are things that the three of us need to discuss. In private."

"We're in the middle of training. You know what happens when I turn my back on them."

"Leave them to Crowe for now," Drautos says. "I'm sure she can keep them in line."

"Sure, if you want them to learn how to strangle a man with a bra."

Drautos heaves an exasperated sigh.

"Thin ice, Ulric," he says. "I need you to take this seriously."

"I'm absolutely serious, Sir," Ulric says. "She once killed a man with just an underwire. Had no idea how effective a stabbing tool it could be until then. Even you would have been impressed."

Prompto bites his bottom lip until the urge to laugh passes. Drautos might be uptight and scary, but at least this guy has a sense of humor.

Ulric smirks until Drautos' scowl breaks, then he turns to Prompto and offers his hand.

"Nyx Ulric, at your service," he says. "Just call me Nyx."

"Prompto."

"So you're the MT."

"Do I look like a robot to you?" Prompto fires back.

Nyx looks him over, feigning serious consideration and gives a half shrug.

"Point taken," Nyx says. "Can I see it?"

"What?"

Nyx tips his head toward Prompto's arm. Prompto shivers, but turns his wrist over, the bar code on full display.

"Huh. I was expecting something different. If you've seen one, you've seen them all, I guess," Nyx says.

Just like that, the source of Prompto's shame is dismissed like it's a garden variety, run of the mill tattoo. Like it's no big deal, and some of Prompto's tension eases.

Nyx calls over a woman with dark hair in a messy bun. She's tall and lean and gorgeous, her smile wry, and the way she walks says she could kill him with just her pinky finger and feel no remorse for it. Prompto's already half in love by the time she arrives at Nyx's side.

"Keep an eye on the kids for me," he says. "Teach them something fun."

"What did you have in mind?" she asks.

"Warp wedgies are always a good time," Nyx says seriously, and Prompto has to repress laughter a second time. "But, it's ladies choice today."

"You asked for it," she says, flashes a smile and leaves them to join the recruits in the training yard.

"Uh, what's a warp wedgie?" Prompto asks. "Just, you know, for future reference."

Nyx grins. "I'll show you sometime. But not today. We have important things to discuss. Shall we?"

"Ten minutes ago," Drautos says. "There's a lot to cover and most of my day has already been wasted on hearings."

They descend three flights of stairs into what Prompto can only call a dungeon. He shivers at the drastic change of temperature, and that double beat in his chest flares up for a moment before it dies off and leaves him with an unsteady but mild tremor in his limbs.

They enter a lab of sorts, where a dozen or more MT's in various states of disrepair are housed in secure glass boxes. Some are missing limbs. On a table in the center, one is being dissected by a technician.

"Well this isn't ominous at all," he says under his breath. "It's got a nice mad scientist vibe that really sets off my iatrophobia."

Nyx gives a soft snort of agreement.

At the table, the technician disassembles the elbow joint of the MT. Flesh has been peeled away to reveal muscle over metal components fused to the bone. His shiver this time is not from the cold.

"You know Plebe, they do kinda look like you," Nyx says. "They've got your eyes."

"No they don't," Prompto says. "For the last time, I'm not a robot!"

But, there are similarities. Enough to make him sick to his stomach.

"I don't mean to sound, you know, ungrateful or anything," Prompto says, "but, uh, why am I here? I mean, you're not going to turn me into one of them or anything, are you? Or try to put the parts..."

"It occurred to me during the investigation that you could prove useful," Drautos says. "Being what you are."

"Yeah, um, I'm still not sure how I can help."

"It's simple. You assist us in understanding how these things work, and you earn your freedom back."

"What makes you think I know how they work?" Prompto asks. "I'm not like them. I keep telling you guys that."

Drautos picks up a small rectangular bit of plastic from the tray beside the MT. He holds it up for Prompto to see.

"Do you know what this is?" he asks.

"Looks like a microchip," Prompto says.

"Correct," Drautos says. "Every MT unit we've salvaged from the battlefield has one. You don't."

Prompto's stomach twists and he shakes his head.

"You're not putting one of those things in me," Prompto says. "No way, dude!"

Drautos rolls his eyes and sets the chip down. He looks to Nyx, then back to Prompto with an expression of exaggerated patience.

"You owe me your life. You agreed to help us," Drautos says. "What makes you think you're in any position to say no?"

"It's my body, and I don't want _that_ or anything else that has anything to do with those things implanted inside of it!"

"You are only a hair away from execution, boy. Don't think that it can't still happen."

"Drautos, take it down a notch. You're scaring the Plebe," Nyx says. He turns to Prompto. "What the Captain is trying to say, is that we want to figure out how these things communicate with each other and how they receive commands. So far, the techs haven't been able to figure it out because we can't get any of them up and running again, even though their chips still work."

"So what's that got to do with me?"

"Well, we want to sync one of these newer chips up with your code so that we can pull data from it during battle."

"During... battle?"

Nyx laughs and pats him on the arm.

"What, you thought you were here for a nice, relaxing vacation in our dungeon?" Nyx says. "Trust me kid, the prison at the Citadel is a five-star hotel in comparison."

"We're prepared to make the chip wearable," Drautos says. "No surgery required."

Prompto didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this. He takes the chip from the table and holds it up. So long as they don't plan to cut him open and stick it inside his brain or something, he's not opposed to the idea if it helps beat down the Empire.

"If it stays outside my body," Prompto says, "I guess I'm okay with it."

"I understand you trained with the Crownsguard for the last two years," Drautos says. "That should give you a solid foundation on which to build, but make no mistake. We are not the Crownsguard. We fight real battles against real adversaries outside the wall and the Empire's army is massive and relentless. If you don't have the stones for it, speak up now."

Prompto looks from the MT on the table, to Drautos, to Nyx's encouraging smile.

"You're not going to dissect me or something, you know, afterwards, are you?"

"Can't promise they won't if you die," Nyx says with a grin, "but you're a lot more valuable to us alive, kid. And as luck would have it, we're desperately in need of a firearms guy who can actually hit a target. So what do you say? You up for it?"

It's one thing to spar in a training center. It's another to enter into actual live combat. He's a good shot, but he's doubted all along if he can bring himself to shoot a living thing for real.

"Guess I don't really have another choice, do I?"

"Well, you do, but it's not the one I'd pick."

"At the end of this," Prompto says. "If I prove myself, I go free right? The charges get dropped?"

"If you live that long," Drautos says.  

Prompto summons what courage he has left and turns to Drautos.

"Okay, but I've got some terms of my own."

Drautos laughs and shakes his head.

"You're in no position to make demands, kid."

"The way I see it? I kinda am," Prompto says slowly. "You need me more than I need you. I already came to terms with... you know, dying and all, and I don't have anything left to lose."

Nyx smirks, but Drautos' dark expression goes even darker.

"State your terms."

"If this works, Ignis gets his name cleared and his job back," Prompto says.

"I can't promise his job," Drautos says. "That's up to the King, but I'll see to it he is cleared of the charges so long as nothing else damning turns up, but I'm going to expect you to toe the line and do everything we ask of you without question or else. Is that clear?"

"You have yourself a deal," Prompto says. "Sir."

* * *

 

Noctis stares inside his empty fridge and sighs. There's nothing but a handful of ketchup packets, a pair of take-out boxes with dried-out rice and an egg that's been in there only the gods knows how long. Without Ignis around to take care of it, his fridge will remain empty until Noctis decides to do something about it. It's been a month since Ignis was relieved of his duties, but today is not that day.

"Quit staring at it like some magical food fairies are going to pop out of the unused vegetable drawer and conjure up a pizza, Noct," Iris says. "It's just not going to happen."

Noctis sighs and closes the door. Iris is right. He keeps expecting to find something in there he can eat, though he knows there's nothing.

"Maybe we can go out and get something," Iris says. "Come on. It'll be fun."

"Not in the mood," he says and drops onto the couch. "Not really hungry anyway."

Iris perches on the arm of a recliner and makes doe eyes at him. Noctis pretends he doesn't see it. She's thirteen, makes no secret of her crush on him, and he doesn't want to encourage her.

"They find a replacement for Iggy yet?" she asks.

As if Ignis can be replaced. As if just anyone off the street could or would do the job as well as Ignis could.

"Nope."

"That sucks," Iris says. "Bet you really miss him, huh?"

That's an understatement. He didn't realize how much he depended on Ignis until he was gone, for both domestic things and for his company.

Gladio emerges from the bathroom and washes his hands in the kitchen sink. "You're out of hand soap."

"I know."

"Then do something about it instead of moping," Gladio says. "You're not helpless."

Annoyed, Noctis stands up, reaches for his wallet and stalks toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To take care of it," Noctis says. "So everyone can get off my back."

"Don't do it on my account," Gladio says. "Do it for yourself. By the way, you're out of toilet paper, too."

Noctis sighs. "Fine."

"Iris, you okay to hang out here for a bit?" Gladio asks.

"Sure. I've got some homework," she says, "and maybe some snooping to do..."

"Snoop away," Noctis says. "Nothing to find."

Iris rolls her eyes. "I was kidding."

They walk to the grocery on the corner, and Noctis browses the aisles, unsure of what else he's out of or how much of it he needs. He tosses a couple bottles of hand soap in the cart, two big packs of toilet paper, some paper towels and an economy sized pack of Cup Noodles for good measure. That should keep him a while.

Does he have shaving cream? Was the shampoo bottle a little light this morning? He's not sure, but he finds the brands Ignis always buys and throws a couple of each in along with the rest. From the frozen foods section, he selects a trio of pizzas, and grabs a few boxes of snack cakes and chips from the rack beside the ice cream.

Gladio just stands back and watches him with a smirk.

"You really have no clue, huh?" he asks as Noctis pushes his cart toward the register.

"About what?"

"Anything," Gladio says. He takes the excess merchandise from the cart and returns it to the shelves. "You don't need seventy-two rolls of toilet paper, Noct."

"Ignis never took me with him when he went shopping," Noctis says. "I'm doing my best, alright? Back off."

"Keep it down," Gladio says. "I know this sucks, but you're just going to have to deal with it. And maybe stop running off your caretakers just because they're not Iggy."

Noctis slumps against the cart and sighs.

"That's the problem," he says. "They're not him. Not even close."

"I know," Gladio says. "Don't know what you've got till it's gone, huh? By the way, you need to talk to your dad. I know you're still pissed, but giving him the silent treatment isn't going to help anything."

His tense relationship with his father isn't something he likes to think about. He understands his father's burdens, and he worries about his health, but Noctis isn't over losing two friends in one fell swoop.

"I don't have anything to say," Noctis says.

Gladio takes him by the arm and leads him down an empty aisle.

"Here it comes," Noctis mutters. "Look, I don't need your lecture. I get it."

"You're gonna hear it anyway," Gladio says. "I don't think you understand the gravity of the choice he had to make."

Noctis pushes away from him, but Gladio blocks him in.

"It sucks that they're gone," Gladio says. "Believe me, I feel it too, but there was no way for him to let them off without looking weak. Everything he does, every choice he makes is under a microscope. As it is, he's taken a lot of flack for letting them live. He did that for you, Noct, because he knew you wouldn't forgive him otherwise. So stop acting like he murdered them in cold blood and be grateful they got off as easy as they did."

"You think I'm not?" Noctis asks.

"I think you're wallowing in self pity," Gladio says. "Wake up, Noct. Some day, you're going to have to make those kinds of decisions too, and it's going to tear you apart. The least you can do is stop thinking about yourself and look at the bigger picture."

Gladio pats his arm and gives him that big brother look Noctis only hates when he's getting taken down a peg. Noctis brushes him off and returns to the cart.

"We done here?" he asks.

"You should probably get some dish soap, too," Gladio says. "Not that you ever clean up after yourself, but the housekeeper might like to have some supplies."

Noctis locates the dish soap and is momentarily baffled by all the options. It comes in all colors and sizes, and the bottles boast of various cleaning properties. He picks the yellow one, but Gladio puts it back.

"Isn't it all the same?" he asks.

"No, it isn't," Gladio says and takes a bottle of electric green liquid off the shelf. "Trust me on this."

"Guess you'd know better than me."

Noctis pays for his purchases and they leave the store laden down with bags.

"You hear from Iggy lately?" he asks.

"Talked to him a couple days ago," Gladio says. "He's hanging in there. Starts work at the library on Monday."

"Library, huh?" Noctis says. "That sounds like a dream job for a bibliophile."

"I'm the bibliophile," Gladio says. "Anyway, gives me a legit reason to see him more often."

Umbra is in the lobby and paces in confused circles in front of the elevator. He whines when he sees Noctis and wags his tail, but doesn't hurry over to make his delivery.

Noctis drops his bags on the floor and finds not Luna's notebook but an envelope. He takes it out and opens it.

_Dear Prompto,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health, if not in the best of spirits. I miss our correspondence, and though I know your circumstances have changed, I still consider you a dear friend. You are always welcome to write me, so if this reaches you, know that you're in my thoughts and prayers and I'm eagerly awaiting your next letter._

_Yours,_

_Luna_

Noctis stares at the letter for a long time before he folds it and places it back in its envelope.

"Luna and Prompto were writing each other?" he says.

"New to me."

Noctis' first instinct is to feel betrayed. It's another secret kept from him, another deception to add to the rest.

It's not what Prompto might be that bothers him. He can empathize with Prompto's fear of being discovered. It's the fact that he didn't have enough faith in their friendship to be honest, that he hid so many parts of himself from them, out of fear he'd be turned away.

"He could have told me," Noctis says.

"Maybe he was afraid you'd be pissed he was writing your girlfriend," Gladio says.

"She's not my girlfriend," Noctis says.

Noctis can't help but wonder if there's anything else Prompto hasn't shared. All he knows is that he's let his friend down by not being accessible enough.

The more he considers it, the more grateful he is that Luna was kind enough to write to Prompto. It's not such a terrible idea, the two of them sharing private correspondence. If they were ever to meet in person, they'd be fast friends.

"Why couldn't he trust me?" Noctis asks. "Why did he keep so many secrets?"

"Oh, like you're an open book all the time," Gladio says. "I'm sure he had his reasons."

Noctis gives Umbra a pat and considers writing his own letter to Prompto at the bottom, but if Umbra is here looking for Prompto, that means he can't find him.

He borrows the doorman's pen and writes Luna instead.

_Luna,_

_Umbra brought your letter for Prompto to me by mistake. Didn't know you guys were in touch, but I'm glad for it. Hope he didn't send you too many embarrassing pictures, but if I know him, you've got a ton. They're probably all of me petting cats or something._

_I don't think Prompto can be reached right now. The Kingsglaive compound is locked down pretty tight, and I doubt they're letting him out for afternoon walks. Getting in touch with him might be tough for a while, and I'm forbidden to see him._

_I'm worried for him, Luna. Keep him in your prayers._

_Always,_

_Noctis_

* * *

 

For two months, Prompto does nothing but train. From sun up, to sun down, sometimes even in the middle of the night, he trains until he's ready to fall down, pushed to the brink of exhaustion.

Twice a week, he reports to the lab and submits to whatever tests they ask of him. Blood tests, brain scans, x-rays, MRIs, stress tests and they make him pee in a cup a lot. They poke and prod and ask questions about bones he's broken in the past, about his diet, his home life and his daily fitness schedule until they know him inside and out. He's little more than a science project that may or may not help the cause.

The other recruits keep clear of him. They know who he is and they're afraid, but he doesn't bother to cover the brand anymore.

Prompto retreats into himself the way he did when he was a kid. He has no friends here. He eats his meals alone, and goes to bed without participating in the conversations going on around him.

He hasn't cried since the first night he was here, but there are times when he wants to break down. Most of the other recruits are all taller and stronger than he is. He gets the crap kicked out of him daily in hand-to-hand combat, and unlike the rest, he can't warp to save his life. They were chosen because of an inborn affinity for magic. Prompto's only talent is good aim and a steady hand.

Once the others realize he's not much of a threat, they make fun of him, first in quiet whispers that cause them all to erupt into laughter and look at him, then more openly, then to his face. They call him a crybaby, a robot, a Niff.

Sometimes, Prompto wonders if he hasn't reverted back to that chubby little boy, but back then, he wasn't teased much.  He was ignored.

The teasing turns to pranks. The laces of his boots go missing. Holes appear in the seat of his cargo pants. Every single pair of socks wind up soaking in the latrine sinks.

Three of the seven refrain from participating and one of them is a victim of their torments as often as Prompto, in spite of his size and his natural skill in combat. They call him Mute, and poke fun at him because he never talks. It takes Prompto weeks to realize it's because he can't.

Prompto notices Mute eats alone too and decides to join him one day at lunch. The boy stares at him with wide, horrified eyes, gathers his meal and takes off, leaving Prompto alone.

"Kid's from some little town in Accordo," Nyx tells him later in the lab. "Got his throat crushed by an MT."

"That sucks," Prompto says. "But... I wish everyone would stop thinking I'm one of them."

"If these guys are afraid of you, it's for good reason," Nyx says. "It's not personal, but you gotta understand, we've all lost our homelands to the Empire. Some of us lost our families and friends. It's not easy to get past that, even when you're fighting for the same cause."

It always comes down to this, the Empire distilled into a mark on his arm.

Every day is the same. Up before dawn, full days of training, meals, an hour of free time in the evening to shower and wind down. Every night, Prompto falls into bed exhausted, but sleep doesn't always come easy. Some nights, he burns with fever. Some nights, he shivers from a chill that finds its way into his bones. Every night, he dreams bad dreams and wakes before the others, shaking and breathless and reaches under the mattress for the bullet he hides there during the day.

One night, six months into his training, he wakes to muffled laughter. For a second, he's not sure where it's coming from, then sees several shadows in the hall outside the barracks door. He almost goes back to sleep, but someone curses and another cries out, and he's wide awake.

He climbs out of bed and follows the sounds and arrives in the hall in time to see the shadows disappear into the latrine. There's laughter now, the mean kind, and Prompto tenses as he creeps down the hall toward the door.

Inside, all the showers are on full blast and Mute lays on the floor, curled into a ball as the others torment and kick him. A thin trail of blood snakes toward the drain and Mute's face is contorted in a silet scream.

They laugh at him, a boy who can't even call for help.

"What's the big idea?!" Prompto shouts and rushes toward Mute. He puts himself between them and faces off with the ringleader, Asa. "Four against one? What did he do to you?"

"Get out of my face, Niff," Asa says. "Or you're next."

"Look, he's gonna cry again," Lyros says. "I didn't think robots could cry. That something they taught you in the Crownsguard, crybaby?"

Prompto thinks about all the times his father left him on the floor this way, curled up and waiting for it to end, and something in him snaps.

He shoots forward and smashes the heel of his palm into Lyros' nose. The boy reels away in pain, but Prompto isn't done. He grabs a fistful of the boy's hair and brings his head down against his knee, just like Monica taught him. Lyros falls to the floor, clutching his face.

"Leave him alone," Prompto says and turns on Asa.

Prompto's fist connects with Asa's jaw, and Prompto is grabbed from behind, by either Septos or Baston, and dragged to the floor. His head smashes against the tile and he sees stars, but grapples with his attacker and kicks out at another.

A boot smashes into his face and his nose breaks. Blood flows down the back of his throat and out his nostrils and he gags on it, but Prompto keeps fighting until a shrill voice cuts through their laughter.

"You little shits," Crowe says from the door. "Goddamn, I hate bullies."

Baston lets Prompto go and dashes for the door, but Crowe has him on his back and a blade to his throat in a flash.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asks.

She makes all four kneel face-first against the wall with their hands locked behind their heads.

"Nyx is gonna be really pissed he had to get out of bed for this," she says. "Hope it was worth it."

She kneels beside Mute as Prompto sits up and spits out a mouthful blood. He touches the bridge of his nose and winces. Definitely broken.

"Help me get him up," Crowe says.

Mute is in bad shape. Prompto got off easy in comparison. His face is a mess of welts and bruises, his lip is split in two places, his nose is bleeding and it looks like he bit through his tongue. There are probably other bruises in places they can't see.

"They taught you first aid in the Crownsguard, right?" Crowe asks. Prompto nods, and she hands him her satchel. "Get him patched up while I deal with these little shitheads."

Prompto opens the pack and retrieves a couple of elixirs. He breaks one open and watches in fascination as the swelling in Mute's face goes down. He uses the other on his nose, then mops up the blood with some gauze from Crowe's satchel.

Mute signs, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Prompto says.

The boy blinks at him in surprise. It takes Prompto a second to understand why.

"I, uh, used to volunteer at the children's hospital," Prompto says. "Some of the kids there signed. I might have picked up a few words here and there."

Mute stares at Prompto's bar code, but looks away when Prompto catches him.

"It's okay," Prompto says. "You can look at it... but, I'm not like them, you know."

He pauses to clean up the empty potions and soiled gauze, then sits back down.

"What's your real name?" Prompto asks. "It can't really be Mute."

Instead of signing the letters, Mute draws them in the air.

"Mateo?"

He nods and offers his hand. Prompto takes it and smiles back. After six months without a single ally besides Nyx, he's desperate for a friend.

* * *

 

Later, in the training yard, Nyx has some choice words for the group. Prompto stands at attention beside Mateo, who still bears evidence of of the attack. He struggles to stay still. He's tired but keyed up and that weird double heartbeat is back again.

"The Kingsglaive is a Brotherhood," Nyx says. "Doesn't matter who you are or where you're from. We're all here for the same reason."

He stops in front of Asa and stares at him until the boy looks away.

"We're a team. We depend on each other to make it out of battle alive," Nyx says. "If you mistreat a brother or sister, they may not be there for you when you really need them."

Nyx steps back and turns away from them to look up at the wall above, where Crowe and his friend Libertus watch. Libertus is amused, but Crowe's expression is sour.

"Some of you don't seem to understand how important that is," he says. "If you were to go into battle tomorrow, most of you would die, if not all of you, because some of you don't know how to put aside your differences and work as a team."

He turns around and faces them again. He's as serious as Prompto's ever seen him, and his eyes follow the line of recruits. His gaze lingers on Mateo the longest before he turns to Asa.

"Step forward," Nyx says.

Asa takes a step forward and lifts his head in defiance. "Sir."

"I'm not even going to ask for an explanation," Nyx says. "I don't like being woken up in the middle of the night to hear my recruits are ganging up on one of their own."

"He's weak, sir," Asa says. "We were trying to toughen him up."

Nyx laughs in disbelief. He scratches the corner of his mouth and looks the kid over until his cocky expression fades.

"You don't know what tough is, kid," he says. "I could show you, but I don't pick on weaklings."

"I'm not weak!" 

"Strength is more than just kicking the shit of somebody who can't fight back," Nyx says. "But I'm not going to waste my time explaining the difference to you. You're out. All four of you. Get your crap and get out of my sight."

Prompto struggles not to smile as the four boys are escorted out of the yard. He nudges Mateo, but his new friend just looks ashamed.

"The rest of you, ten miles," Nyx says. "First one to fall out cleans the latrine for a month."

For the first time since he arrived here, Prompto has hope.

* * *

 

It's been seven months and the development of a special device for Prompto to carry into battle is almost complete. It looks like a bracelet, made of thick leather, and preliminary tests have positive results. Drautos is pleased, though Prompto doesn't quite understand the value of the information it'll provide. He's not sure why it matters, but he's not the one in charge.

Once he passes his final trials, he'll be sent into battle to see if it really works. If it does, and he proves himself, he'll be able to pay back some of the debt he owes. If it doesn't, who knows what will happen?

One sleepless night, a week before the trials, Prompto gets out of bed and goes to sit on the wall above the training yard. There's a full moon and the sky is clear enough to see a few stars in spite of the city lights.

He's thinking about Luna and how much he misses her letters when a hand clamps over his mouth he's dragged to his feet.

"Don't scream."

Prompto doesn't think, he just reacts. He drops his weight and throws his attacker over his shoulder without missing a beat. The young man lands on his back with a grunt and rolls onto his side with a hand clutched to his shoulder.

"Quit it," he says. "It's just me. Geez."

It's only then that Prompto recognizes him.

"Dude! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Keep it down," Noctis says as he sits up. "It was hard enough to get in this place without getting caught."

Prompto helps Noctis to his feet and dusts him off, then takes him by the wrist and down a corridor off the main hall.

"You're not supposed to be here," Prompto says. "What's the big idea?"

"You want me to go?"

"You being here could get me killed, Noct," Prompto says and pushes Noctis inside the equipment room, where he flicks on the light and faces his best friend.

"Goddamn," Noctis says. He wraps a hand around Prompto's bicep. "Look at you."

"Heh, yeah," Prompto says. "It's pretty weird, right?"

They stare at each other for several seconds before Noctis steps forward and throws his arms around Prompto in a tight, brotherly embrace. Prompto returns it and squeezes back the urge to cry. Noctis pats him hard on the back and releases him.

"And here I was worried about you," Noctis says.

"You were worried?"

"You in the Kingsglaive?" Noctis says. "Of course I was."

"Oh ye of little faith," Prompto says. "Amazing what eight hours a day of training will do. Look, dude! I have abs!" He lifts his shirt to show off his muscles. "See?"

"Jealous. Gladio kicks my ass every day and I still look like a twelve-year-old," Noctis says. "And eight hours a day? Seriously?"

"Sometimes more," Prompto says. He pauses and goes to the door and listens for a second. They're still alone as far as he can tell. "It's good to see you, Noct, but... you really shouldn't be here. I'm kind of under a no-contact order, and..."

"I know," Noctis says, "I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I'm good," Prompto says. "Really."

Noctis looks troubled and takes a seat on a crate.

"They're, um, sending me into battle soon," Prompto says. "I'm scared shitless."

"Outside the wall?"

"Yeah," Prompto says. "Outside the wall. Where there are monsters and MT's and Imperials everywhere."

"Don't you go dying on me," Noctis says. "I don't think I'd get over that."

"I'll try not to disappoint," Prompto says. "But enough about me. How are the guys doing? Iggy okay?"

"I don't get to see him much," he says. "Not really supposed to, but Gladio sees him every couple of weeks. He got a job at the library as an archivist. Gladio says he likes it."

"I can see him as a librarian," Prompto says. "And the big guy? How's he doing?"

"He's the same, except he's on my ass all the time, about everything," Noctis says. "Even though I'm trying. I mean, Ignis was all over me too, but it's different when Gladio does it."

"Yeah, I guess when you have people doing stuff for you your whole life, it's kinda hard to adjust," Prompto says.

Noctis is wounded and Prompto sighs.

"I didn't mean it like that," he says. "It's just that Iggy made everything so easy for you, you didn't really have to worry about any of that stuff. Guess it would be pretty hard to replace him."

"No one's worked out so far," Noctis says.

Noctis takes off his backpack and unzips it. He removes a black case and passes it to Prompto.

"Figured you might want this. You left it at my place."

Prompto gets misty eyed as he opens the case and takes out his Lokton. He hasn't thought about taking pictures since the start of this whole mess. He figured it wound up in a box in storage somewhere, if not in the trash with the rest of his things.

"Thanks," Prompto says. "But, I can't keep it. They'll want to know where it came from. I'm not allowed out, remember?"

"Oh. Right," Noctis says. "I didn't think about that."

Prompto puts it away and hands it back to Noctis.

"Keep it safe for me," he says.

"You better come back for it," Noctis says. He stashes it in his bag and hangs his head. A full minute passes before he speaks again. "Prompto, why didn't you tell me? Did you really think it would make a difference?"

Prompto looks at his hands and nods.

"Yeah. And, I mean, didn't it? Look where it got me and Iggy."

"Still should have told me," Noctis says. "I wouldn't have turned my back on you."

Prompto almost starts crying. He should have known better. He should have known Noctis wouldn't care.

"I just thought everyone would hate me."

"You were wrong."

Noctis retrieves an envelope from his bag and passes it to Prompto. It's from Luna, and Prompto's cheeks turn red.

"Busted," Prompto says. "Way to go Umbra."

Prompto takes the letter and out habit, smells the envelope. Sylleblossms, like always.

"How long have you guys been writing each other?"

"Since way before you and me were buddies."

"You could have told me that, too," Noctis says. "I wouldn't have been mad."

"Didn't think you would be," Prompto says. "It just never came up."

"You never brought it up," Noctis says. "You pretended you didn't know Umbra the first time."

"Yeah," Prompto says. "Guess I did. I don't know why. It was a nice secret to have for a change, you know? Just wanted to keep it to myself."

"Yeah. I get it," Noctis says. "She's worried about you."

"Tell her I'm okay."

"Tell her yourself," Nocts says.

"It's not like I can write her back, Noct," Prompto says. "I can't leave the compound. It'd be real nice if you passed it along until they let me out."

"Okay."

Noctis zips his bag and watches Prompto carefully.

"No more secrets," Noct says. "If we're still friends, that is."

Prompto's tempted to tell him they can't be friends anymore, by royal decree. It wasn't a strong warning, it's his life on the line here. If he's caught, it could mean death.

He should tell Noctis to get lost, to never come back, for his own good, but Noctis took a considerable risk of his own in coming here. The fact that he's here says everything there is to say.

"Till the very end, dude," Prompto says. "No matter what."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Transitional chapter, gets weird next chapter. :)
> 
> Thank you all for reading, especially youz guys who left kudos and comments! Really, really flattered by your support and thank you so much for reading!


	6. Field Trip

It's hard to say goodbye to Noctis, but Prompto feels a thousand times better after seeing him. Maybe, some day in the future, they can be friends again for real. For now, he's content to know Noctis doesn't hate him.

He returns to his spot on the wall and contemplates his future as he stares at the bullet. Six days to the final trials. Six days, and if luck is on his side, he'll wear a uniform he can be proud of. He's not confident he'll pass. He still can't warp, and he still flinches when he gets hit and hesitates to hit back, but he's fast and he almost never misses a target.

Prompto sneaks back to the dorm before sunrise and runs into Nyx by the stairs.

"You shouldn't be wandering around," Nyx says.

"I was in the latrine."

"Latrine's the other way, Plebe."

"Right, well, see there was this noise and I went to check it out," Prompto says. "Turns out it was just a bird... you know, a night bird..."

Nyx holds up a hand.

"Sometimes it's best to say nothing."

"You gonna report me?"

"Nah," Nyx says. "Go get dressed. We're going on a field trip."

"Really?" Prompto asks. "Wait, it's not the lab is it? I really don't need a case of the willies this early in the morning."

"Nope," Nyx says. "Heading out to Leide to pick up a part. Drautos thought you could use some fresh air."

"Well, that's nice of him," Prompto says. Nyx hands him the leather bracelet with the chip in it. "Oh. Test run, huh?"

"You guessed it," Nyx says. "Need to see how far the range is."

Prompto puts it on. It could pass as a fashion accessory instead of a tracking device, and he's okay with that. As a bonus, it covers the tattoo nicely.

"I'll meet you by the gate in ten minutes," Nyx says. "Bring your weapon. If we have time, we'll practice your skills on some monsters."

"Yay!" Prompto says with mock enthusiasm. "We get to kill things!"

In the barracks, he dresses in his tactical pants and a Kingsglaive t-shirt. He does his best to style his hair in the latrine, but without product, it lays flat around his face, a wasted effort.

Nyx is waiting for him at the gate and they head for the garage.

"You know how to drive?" Nyx asks.

"Iggy taught me a little bit," Prompto says. "It didn't go so well."

"When we get outside the city, I'll let you take the wheel for a while," Nyx says. "Get you some practice."

"Sure," Prompto says, "But don't say I didn't warn you."

The drive out of the city takes longer than Prompto expects. Traffic sucks and Nyx grumbles expletives at other drivers under his breath until the congestion clears. They pass the library and Prompto can't help but think of Ignis. Maybe, once he's been patched in, a full fledged member of the Kingsglaive, he'll be free to go visit.

By the time they hit the city gate, the sun is up. Nyx shows the gate guard a pass and they're waved through ahead of several other vehicles.

Prompto's never been outside the walls of the city, and he's stunned by the ruined world around him. Bombed out buildings and rusted, blown apart cars, abandoned equipment and machinery, blast marks in the ground. Here and there are bones, picked clean by scavengers and left to bleach in the sun.

"What the heck happened here?" Prompto asks.

"War. Long time ago," Nyx says. "You ready to drive?"

"Now or never, right?"

Nyx pulls the truck over on the shoulder and Prompto gets out. Something in his peripheral vision shifts and he turns, expecting a fight, but to his surprise, it's Umbra.

"Hey, buddy!" he cries as the dog trots toward him. "Oh, man, I missed you."

Prompto kneels down as Umbra arrives and gives the dog a hearty pat on the side and scratches behind the ear until Umbra's eyes glaze over.

"Yours?" Nyx asks.

"Uh, no, he belongs to a friend."

"Better not be the Prince, Plebe."

"Nope," Prompto says and finds a letter with his name on it.

"Who sends letters by canine messenger service?" Nyx asks and crosses his arms over his chest. "Just text, like everyone else."

"It's more fun this way," Prompto says. "Besides, she doesn't have a phone."

"No phone? Where does this girl live, the moon?"

"I don't have a phone," he points out.

Prompto's reluctant to say anything else. He can't tell Nyx about Luna. She's in the custody of the Empire, after all. She's a close friend of Noctis'. It could look really suspicious if he isn't careful.

"Let me see it."

Prompto stands up and takes a step back, the letter clutched tight against his chest.

"What? No!"

"Come on, kid," Nyx says. "Ease my mind, okay?"

Prompto hasn't even read it yet, but he hands it over. Nyx smells the envelope. His smile is sad and wistful.

"Sylleblossoms," Nyx says. "Smells like a love letter, Plebe."

Prompto's face turns red and he shakes his head to deny it. Nyx laughs, opens the envelope, and scans the contents. Prompto remembers too late that Luna writes on monogrammed stationery.

"Lunafreya Nox Fluret," Nyx mumbles. "You've got to be kidding me."

Prompto bites his lip. He shouldn't admit it, but it's not like he can hide the truth now.

"How the hell does a Plebe like you befriend a Prince, all his associates, and the Oracle, too?"

"Dumb luck, I guess," Prompto says. "Can I have it back now?"

Nyx hands it over and Prompto reads it.

_Dear Prompto,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I've been unable to reach you, but will continue to try until I receive word by your own hand that you've not been stashed in a dungeon somewhere and left to commune with rats. Please write when you can, even if only to tell me you don't wish to keep in touch, and I will continue to offer my prayers up to the Gods for your health and safekeeping._

_You are always in my thoughts and prayers._

_Yours,_

_Luna_

It's pretty similar to the one Noctis gave him, but Prompto is grateful she's still trying to reach out to him. He tucks the letter into his pocket and wonders if there's time to scribble a quick note in return, just to let Luna know he's okay.

"Hey, uh, you got some scrap paper in there? And a pen?" he asks. "I haven't been able to write since I was shot. She's probably worried sick."

Nyx crosses his arms and considers Prompto for a minute.

"I swear it's not crazy spy stuff, okay? I just need to let her know I'm still alive," Prompto says. "Pretty please?"

Nyx rolls his eyes, but opens the truck door, roots through the glove box and hands over a hot pink flier for a restaurant in the art district and a crayon for marking maps.

"Best I can do, kid," Nyx says, "but you know you're going to have to let me read that before you send it."

Prompto sighs. "If you must."

He uses the hood of the truck as a writing surface. The crayon makes his handwriting look like a five-year-old's, and the hot pink paper stings his eyes, but he's glad for the chance to let Luna know he's alive. Even if there's not much he can write about.

_Luna,_

_Was barely outside the city when Umbra found me! Stopped for just a second, and there he was. Man, that dog has a good nose. Bet he's been going crazy trying to find me. Poor little guy. Wish I had some treats to give him for being such a good boy!_

_Killed me not to be able to write and let you know I'm alright and that you don't need to worry about me. I'm sure you have plenty of Oracle stuff to deal with._

_I hope you're doing good, too, Luna. You always tell me to take care of myself, but make sure to take care of yourself, too. Do something fun, and just for you._

_Thanks for always keeping me in your prayers. You're in mine (when I actually remember to pray, that is – bad, I know). Give Pryna some extra pets from me, okay?_

_Your buddy,_

_Prompto_

He hands it over to Nyx for his inspection and waits for him to read it.

"What kind of love letter is this?" Nyx asks as he scans Prompto's scribbles.

Prompto's face colors and he snatches the letter back, folds it and tucks it under the strap on Umbra's back.

"It's not a love letter," Prompto says.

Nyx searches his face for a second. "Alright."

"You gonna tell the Captain about this?"

"I should," Nyx says. "But I'm not going to."

"So... you don't think this is some deep cover, secret espionage stuff?"

Nyx chuckles. "If it is, you're the worst spy that ever lived, kid."

He hands Prompto the keys, and Prompto gives Umbra one last scratch.

"Take care, buddy," he says.

* * *

Nyx lets Prompto drive the rest of the trip. It isn't far, but Prompto has a tough time focusing. The passing landscape is starkly beautiful and the rock formations fascinate him. He wishes he had his camera and the opportunity to take pictures. Who knows when he'll be back?

"It's just up ahead," Nyx says.

Prompto would have to be totally blind to miss the Hammerhead Outpost and Garage. A huge sign rises toward the sky, visible for miles, but the place is also the only thing around besides rocks and rusted cars. He pulls in and parks, then has to re-park because he's slanted across two spaces.

"How did I do, boss?" he asks.

"Well," Nyx says and slaps his shoulder. "The good news is we didn't die."

"I wasn't that bad!"

"You know those lines on the road? You're supposed to stay between them."

"Oh, whatever dude," Prompto says. "Hey look! A diner!"

Nyx climbs out and Prompto follows him across the lot to the open garage door. Inside, a woman is bent over the engine of a clunker that's more rust than car. All Prompto can see is a mile of leg, but when she straightens, he knows he's in the presence of a Goddess.

"Wow," he breathes.

Nyx chuckles and pats his shoulder.

"Well howdy, y'all," she says. "Good to see ya again, Nyx."

"You too, Cindy," Nyx says. He elbows Prompto. "Say hi, Plebe."

All Prompto can do is smile like an idiot. She's beautiful.

"Cindy, this is Prompto," Nyx says. "Prompto, Cindy Aurum, head mechanic."

"Well, hey there, sweetie. Nice to meet ya," she says. She turns back to Nyx. "Y'all are recrutin' kinda young, don't you think?"

"I'm older than I look," Prompto says and puffs out his chest. "I'm almost nineteen."

Cindy smiles at him the way girls smile at kittens and Prompto's palms start to sweat. It's not just that she's sexy as hell, it's also the wrench in her hand and the grease on her nose. It's her kind eyes and confidence and the fact that she clearly knows her way around an engine.

"Y'all are here for the alternator, right?"

"Yeah. Pelna called it in," Nyx says. "Said we could pick it up today."

"Got a problem, then," Cindy says. "My guy delivered the wrong one. I can get you the part, but they can't get here until this afternoon. I tried to call but phone lines 'round here been somethin' awful lately."

Nyx scratches his chin. "This afternoon, huh?"

"Said he'd be here 'round two if y'all don't mind waitin' on him," Cindy says. "Real sorry for the inconvenience."

"We don't mind," Prompto chimes in and nudges Nyx. "Really."

Nyx crosses his arms and casts a sideways glance at Prompto.

"Guess we could grab some breakfast and then go find us a Dualhorn for target practice," he says.

"I could eat," Prompto says. "No rush on the target practice, though. Seriously. I'm good."

"You need all the help you can get, Plebe."

"Dude! Could you not?" he hisses as they walk away. "Ix-nay on the eeb-play."

Prompto steals glances back at the garage in the hopes of catching another glimpse of his Goddess.

"Someday, I'm going to marry that girl," Prompto declares. "Think she'd go out with me?"

"Geez, kid," Nyx says. "You really do aim high, don't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Nyx says. He smiles and ruffles Prompto's hair. "Come on. Let's eat."

* * *

As much as Ignis likes the system of order at the library, every day is the same. The work is as unexciting as watching Noctis spend hours upon hours punching the screen of his phone, but that sense of chaos and disorder that surrounded Noctis gave Ignis a purpose. As frustrating as it could be, it was good to be needed.

Anyone who could read and count past ten could do this job and Ignis gets no satisfaction from the continuous fetch and return. The only benefit is that it pays a decent salary and the hours are ideal, and he has access to books and files that give him a starting point for his research into the Magitek Infantry and Prompto's possible origins.

He meets Gladio for lunch and is warmed by his long-time friend's smile. These days, Ignis has precious few he can rely on, and he's grateful Gladio did not heed the strong suggestion to cut all ties.

"Sounds pretty boring," Gladio says of Ignis' description of his job duties.

"Mind-numbing is more appropriate," Ignis says. "How is Noctis?"

"Eh, he's hanging in there," Gladio says. "Trying to convince me to convince his dad he doesn't need a college education. Wants to drop out."

"He most certainly will not," Ignis says. "I hope you're not considering broaching the subject with the King."

"Hell no, but his grades so far are shit," Gladio says. "And the way things are going, his Majesty would probably let him have his way."

"And he'd spend all day playing games until his brain turns to mush," Ignis says. "Have they reconciled?"

"Depends what you mean by reconciled," Gladio says. "They're on speaking terms again but it's still tense. At least he's doing his own shopping now. Sometimes he even cleans. I mean, he doesn't do a great job, but you gotta appreciate the effort."

"Thank the heavens for small miracles," Ignis says. "What of his new caretaker?"

"Clueless," Gladio says with a chuckle. "He basically lets Noct do whatever he wants because he's terrified of offending him. Hasn't figured out Noct needs to be taken down a peg or two every now and then."

It's petty, but Ignis takes perverse satisfaction in knowing he's not yet been replaced, but he's saddened by the fact that Noctis is the one who must pay the price for his absence.

"So, how's the research going?"

"Nothing significant," Ignis says. "Every road leads to a dead end."

"Why are you chasing this anyway?" Gladio asks. "Crowe tells me Prompto's doing pretty good."

"Peace of mind," Ignis says.

"Yours or Prompto's?"

"Both, I suppose."

"Maybe it's best if you just let it go," Gladio says. "I know you want the truth, but I'm not sure it'll do either of you any good."

"It can't be easy for him, not knowing what he is."

"Just be careful," Gladio says. "Maybe there's a reason it's been kept a secret."

"You know what they say about locked doors," Ignis says.

Gladio grunts.

"Yeah, yeah. Just don't get yourself locked up again in the process," he says. "So, you want some company tonight? Or are you too wrapped up in your research to hang out?"

Ignis sips his coffee and considers the question. There's a hint of jealousy in his tone. It's true he's kept his distance, but it's for Gladio's sake that he does. He survived the inquisition by the skin of his teeth, and it's only by the King's grace that he is a free man. He doesn't want to chance the same banishment Prompto received.

Still, Ignis is lonely without anyone to cook for or look after.

"Certainly," Ignis says. "Bring Iris as well, if you like."

"Nah, she's got some school dance thing tonight," Gladio says. "Be nice to hang out, just the two of us. Dad gave me a good bottle of whiskey last week and I sure as hell don't want to drink it all by myself, if you know what I mean."

"Steak sound alright?" Ignis asks, perplexed by what, exactly, Gladio means. "Perhaps roasted potatoes with rosemary and sea salt?"

"You know I'll eat whatever. You haven't disappointed me yet," Gladio says and flashes a winning smile. He gathers his briefcase and pockets his phone. "See you at seven."

* * *

"How come I can't warp?" Prompto complains. "I don't want to be the only one in the Kingsglaive who can't."

He surveys the dead reapertails all around him as Nyx wipes the blades of his Kukris. It wasn't as bad as Prompto thought it would be. Not his favorite thing in the world, but it was a lot easier to shoot something that was trying to kill him than it was to fire at the other recruits in training.

"Some just don't have an affinity for it," Nyx says, "but trust me, you're not the only one."

"Yeah, but it's so unfair," Prompto says. "It looks awesome."

"Focus on staying alive," Nyx says. "Being alive is pretty awesome, too."

Prompto holsters his gun and looks around at the landscape. In the distance, the husk of a house crumbles in the sunshine. Here and there, tufts of crunchy brownish grass sprouts up from the cracked earth, and the only vegetation that thrives are ugly, scrubby bushes.

"Can't imagine anyone would want to live out here," he says.

"The big city's not for everyone," Nyx says. "Besides. Not like they had a choice when the wall went up."

"Yeah, about that," Prompto says. "How come Insomnia's protected but no one else is?"

"The Empire is legion," Nyx says. "And their reach is far. The King can only do so much."

He thinks about Noctis' unspoken worry for his father's health, and of how every time Prompto saw King Regis on the news, he looked older and more gray and weathered than the last.

"What happens if he can't keep the wall up?"

"Then Insomnia will fall, and the Empire wins."

"What do we do if that happens?"

"Well, if it does, it probably means we're all dead," Nyx says. "If not, we keep fighting until we are."

Prompto swallows hard and tries not to picture the city, his home, crumbling to ruin like this dry, deserted place.

"That's not depressing at all," Prompto says. "You think it can really happen?"

Nyx sheathes his blades and looks off into the distance. He gives a slow nod and turns back to Prompto.

"I've seen it happen," he says. "Most of us in the Glaive have."

"Oh, man," Prompto laments. "That sucks."

"You have no idea kid," Nyx says. He checks the time and angles his head toward the road. "Come on. Let's go see if Cindy has our part yet."

Back at the Hammerhead, Cindy's got the rusted clunker torn apart and the engine on a lift. He watches from the door of the garage as she examines the engine block. There's grease on her chin, and her hair lays in sweaty tangles against the back of her neck, but Prompto's never seen anything so lovely in his life.

"Cracked," she says to herself and draws a gloved fingertip over a spot on the engine. "That's what I was 'fraid of."

She turns to them, smiles, and Prompto's heart beats out a double-time rhythm. The good kind. Not that dark, shadowy weirdness that keeps him awake at night.

"Hey there, boys," she says. "Sorry to say, he ain't showed up yet."

"Got an ETA?" Nyx asks.

"He was s'posed to be here an hour ago," she says. "Don't know what's keepin', him but I'm real sorry about the inconvenience. I know you got things to do."

"We don't have anything to do," Prompto chimes in. "Nothing at all! We can wait. Or, you know, fetch tools for you or something."

Nyx snorts.

"That's mighty sweet of you, but it shouldn't be much longer," she says. "If you want, I'll service your truck while you wait, for your trouble and all."

"Not necessary," Nyx says. "You got a phone I can use? Need to call the boss, and I'm not getting any service out here."

"Sure thing," Cindy says. "Got one in the office. Help yourself."

Nyx thanks her and disappears into a small office. Prompto looks around the garage to avoid looking at Cindy, but his eyes are drawn back to her again and again.

"So, uh, Cindy," he says, "how long have you, you know, been fixing cars?"

"Most of my life," she says and shines a flashlight into the cavity of the clunker. "My Paw-Paw, Cid, taught me everything I know and then some."

"Nice," Prompto says. "That's really cool. So you run this place yourself?"

"Paw-paw's still around," she says. "His hands and back ain't what they used to be, so he mostly sticks to smaller projects, but he's still the boss."

She returns her attention to the engine on the lift and inspects something on the side.

"So, um, when I'm a full-fledged member of the Kingsglaive, I was thinking I'd get me a set of wheels," Prompto says, though the thought has just occurred to him. "Think you might be game to service it for me when I do?"

"Well, sure," she says. "It ain't too often I get my hands on a fancy city car. But you don't gotta bring it all the way out here. Probably plenty of mechanics a lot closer behind that wall of yours."

"I guess so," Prompto says. "But, I mean, there's a reason the Kingsglaive uses you guys instead of some place in Insomnia, right?"

"Official purveyors to the crown," she says. "If you're ever out this way, I'd be happy to take care of her for you. Y'all got stuff I ain't never seen. Always a challenge to learn somethin' new."

"You've never been to Insomnia?"

"Never had cause," she says. "Besides, they don't let us in without good reason. Easier for y'all to get out than it is for us to get in. Makes getting stuff kinda hard unless we got it lyin' 'round somewhere."

"That sucks," Prompto says. "You'd love Insomnia. Tons of cool cars, everywhere!"

Nyx steps out of the office.

"So? What's the verdict?" Prompto asks.

"We wait," Nyx says. "You bothering Cindy?"

"He ain't no bother," she says and Prompto beams.

"Come on, kid," Nyx says. "We've got time to kill. Let's check out the shop."

* * *

The part doesn't arrive until sundown. Nyx glances at the fading daylight and then his watch. He curses and climbs into the driver's side. Prompto waves to Cindy as he gets in the truck, but she's already halfway under the broken car. All he can see of her are her legs.

"So, I'm not driving this time?" Prompto asks as they pull out onto the road.

"Gotta make tracks," Nyx says. "Sun's going down."

"And?"

"And there are Daemons after dark," Nyx says. "Even if I haul ass, we won't make the city gate by nightfall."

"Should I be worried?" Prompto asks.

"Yeah," Nyx says. "Take a look around, kid. You see anyone else on the road?"

Now that he mentions it, Prompto does notice there aren't other motorists out and about like there were earlier in the day. There are no headlights behind them, none ahead of them.

Nyx's edginess infects Prompto, and he grows tense as he watches the dark landscape in the headlights. If Nyx is worried, then it must be a big deal.

Out the passenger side window, Prompto notices things glowing in shades of red and violet and his skin prickles.

"Are those...?" he asks.

"Yep," Nyx says. He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. "Maybe we should cut our losses and make camp for the night. There's a haven up ahead."

"Camp?" Prompto says. "Like... sleeping on the ground?"

"You see a tent and sleeping bags in the back?"

"No."

"Then yeah," Nyx says. "Exactly like sleeping on the ground."

"Can't we, I don't know, just run them over if they get in our way?"

"Smaller ones, maybe," Nyx says. "But most of them... not so much."

Something that shimmers like wet tar in the headlights shambles down the center line of the road and Nyx swears under his breath. He steps on the brake and puts the truck in reverse, but the creature gives a roar that rattles the floorboard and stomps toward them.

"Dude! What is that?!"

"Bad news," Nyx says. He glances in the rear-view mirror. "Son of a bitch."

"What now?"

"More bad news."

Prompto turns around in his seat. There's another one behind them and it brought friends.

"We're going to die, aren't we?"

"Probably," Nyx says.

"How can you be so calm?!"

"Take a deep breath," Nyx says and puts the truck in park. "We're going to have to fight 'em, Plebe,"

"What?! No way!" Prompto says. "Can't we just wait for them to leave?"

"They won't. Not until we're dead."

Prompto checks his weapon and undoes the clip on his seat belt.

"I _soooo_ didn't want to die a virgin," he laments.

Nyx chuckles.

"Win some, lose some kid," he says. "You ready?"

"No."

"Good. Let's go," Nyx says and throws open the door of the truck. "Stay out of their reach and pick off the small ones while I'm busy."

"Got it."

Two hulking giants with blazing swords and a pack of imp-like creatures surround the truck. Prompto shakes as he draws his gun. He's never seen anything like this in his entire life. The grainy images he sometimes saw in the papers didn't do this horror justice.

He fires at the imp closest to Nyx and it shrieks. It flies at him and he unloads on it, backing away to avoid getting struck. Nyx starts warping faster than Prompto can track, landing hit after hit on the largest one. The other gives a ear-drum splitting roar and brings its weapon down less than two feet from Prompto.

It advances on him and he keeps firing, his heart in his throat. The imps circle around him and Prompto has nowhere to run.

"Nyx!" he yells. "Got a little trouble over here!"

Nyx is too busy with the other daemon to help out. He flits around it, warping to and fro like a persistent and demented wasp.

The daemons are close now, so close, Prompto could reach out and touch them if he wanted, but none of them attack. His skin grows hot and his heart thunders out a deafening rhythm, that second pulse louder than the first. He feels it in his eyeballs and his lips, in his fingers and toes, and he's sure he's about to die of heart failure.

The giant one leans down and stares at him, a low rumble in its throat. Waves of blackish smoke roll off its shiny skin and its breath stinks of rotten garbage and spoiled meat. Prompto whimpers and his hands shake so hard, he almost loses his grip on his gun.

It's going to kill him. Swallow him whole. Eat him alive.

He closes his eyes and prays for a swift end.

The beast howls and Prompto jumps, his eyes opening in time to see Nyx swoop in and slice at it with his blades. It takes a swipe at Nyx, catches him in the stomach and flings him away. Nyx hits the ground and rolls, but he doesn't get up.

Something in Prompto's chest swells and he feels like he's going to burst apart. The smaller Daemons back away from him, chirping to each other as they cower like kicked dogs. The ground around his feet turns black, and spirals of violet light twine up his legs. He can hear nothing but the dual drumbeat of his heart.

It tears through his torso and radiates out from the bullet scar on his chest. Twines of purple-black smoke twist over his forearms and something alive and inhuman gnaws at his insides.

It wants out, whatever this is. It's hungry. Alive. The source of that second heartbeat.

He's not sure what's happening to him, or what this is, but the giant daemon backs away with a whine of uncertainty, then leans in again, its face inches from his. It sniffs the air around him and Prompto sees his own fearful face reflected back in its bottomless eyes.

Whatever this strange magic, and Prompto has no other name for it than that, it fills him with a sense of power. It calls for blood. It wants him to destroy.

"What the fuck?" Nyx murmurs. "Plebe?"

Everything stops. The daemons freeze in place and the breeze stills. Nyx is frozen in a half-crouch, one hand on the ground, his Kukris in the other. His eyes are fixed on Prompto.

Prompto takes a step back and almost trips over a halted imp as Pryna emerges from the shadows and sits before him. He hasn't seen her since she was a puppy, but he knows it's her. In the darkness, her blue eyes glow a heavenly shade and she nudges his hand.

"I don't understand," he says. "What the hell is going on?"

Pryna vanishes and in her place is the mystery man, a placid smile on his face.

"I give you a gift, and this is how you use it," he says. "You disappoint me, Prompto."

"What?" Prompto asks. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't you feel them calling to you?"

The man smiles and a fiery shock courses through Prompto's body. He looks down at himself to make sure he's not on fire, and instead of flames, sees his body altered, his hands curl into claws and his skin blackens and shimmers.

"There," the man says. "That's better."

Prompto closes his eyes and shakes his head. This can't be real. It can't be.

"Do you hear me now, Prompto?"

Everything starts moving again as a blast of white-hot light bursts from Prompto's chest. He screams as it knocks him back and he hits the ground as the daemons shriek in pain. His skin hurts all over and his heart beats so fast, he's sure he's going to die.

The night is silent and all he can hear is his own panicked breaths and the sputter of his heart. His cheeks are wet and his mouth is dry and tastes of sand. He's spent. He can barely lift his head. Whatever just happened sapped the last of his strength and he can't get up on his own.

He opens his eyes at the crunch of gravel and Nyx crouches down in front of him. He tugs Prompto into a sitting position and stares at his face. There''s a bleeding abrasion on Nyx's chin.

"What the hell was that, kid?"

Nyx grabs him lightly by the chin and turns his face from side to side.

"I dunno," Prompto says and pulls back. "Never happened before."

"You ever seen a daemon up close?" Nyx asks. "Before tonight?"

"No," Prompto says.

"Never been in contact with one?"

"Daemons? In the Crown City?" Prompto asks. "Pretty unlikely, don't you think?"

"Unlikely, but not impossible." Nyx stares at Prompto's eyes and turns his face from side to side again. "Happens every now and then."

"Dude, what are you doing?"

Nyx lets him go and sits back on his heels.

"How did you make them back off?"

Prompto blinks at him.

"They could have killed you ten times over and they didn't. Tell me what you did."

Prompto bites his lip and struggles to stand up. Nyx helps him to his feet. His legs shake and his stomach is full of moths.

"I don't know," he says. "I don't know what I did. Everything just got... weird."

"You've got magic in you, kid," Nyx says.

Prompto shakes his head to deny it, but his body still shakes from the effort and his scar still burns around the edges.

"Don't believe me?" Nyx asks and grabs him by the back of the neck and steers him toward the truck.

He pushes Prompto's head toward the side mirror and switches off both flashlights.

"Take a look."

His face is in shadow, but there's no mistaking the gas-flame blue glow of his irises, the only light in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update is late. Got sucked into a Stranger Things binge spiral that I couldn't get out of. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! <3


	7. Icarus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't plan on writing the smut this early in the story, but then I went and kinda sorta smutted because a later section of this chapter fell flat without the bits that lead up to it. So. If you don't wish to read mildly smutty (non explicit) m/m shenanigans, please feel free to skip the first section and pick up after the first line break. I updated tags to reflect the change of plan. 
> 
> And seriously guys, thank you so, so much for the kudos and comments! <3

"You outdid yourself this time, Iggy," Gladio says and pats his stomach. "Best steak I've had in ages."

"It's nothing special," Ignis says and gathers the dishes from the table. "Just a bit of seasoning."

"You're too damn modest," Gladio says. "You put those supposed five-star joints to shame."

Ignis doesn't do so well with compliments, and Gladio's laying it on thick and grinning like a fool thanks to the four glasses of whiskey he consumed before and during dinner.

Gladio stretches and gets up to help and together they make short work of the mess. Ignis makes a plate from the leftovers for Gladio to take to Noctis, whom Ignis doubts is eating much besides junk food.

"He'll appreciate the steak, at least," Gladio says. "I'll appreciate the rest."

Gladio reaches for the bottle of whiskey on the counter and pours another measure into both of their glasses. Ignis has already consumed more than he's used to, but he accepts the drink. Gladio's fingers brush against his as he takes it, and a spark of heat sends ripples of want through his whole body.

Rattled by his unexpected response to something so innocent, Ignis steps back and turns away to wipe at imaginary crumbs on the counter.

It must be the whiskey. Gladio is his friend. They've known each other since childhood, they shared important duties with respect to Noctis, they've trained together, but it has never once occurred to Ignis to consider Gladio a potential partner in other ways. Not once has physical contact with the man inspired lust. How is it possible that just the mere brush of fingers against his own sparked such a conflict?

"Damn, you're tense," Gladio says. "When was the last time you got laid?"

It's been six months, and the encounter is only notable for it's utter lack of passion or chemistry. Just a visiting scholar from Lestallum whose only appeal in the end was that he was easy on the eyes.

"A while ago," Ignis admits.

"Hmm."

"Don't judge," Ignis says. "I've had more important things on my mind than my own gratification."

"Call it friendly concern."

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine," Ignis says.

Gladio falls silent, the only sound the ice rattling in his glass as he takes another swallow of whiskey. Ignis turns around to find Gladio watching him with an odd look.

"Don't you get lonely?" Gladio asks.

Without a purpose, Ignis' days and nights are no longer full. He tries to fill the hole in his life with study, but it isn't enough. He's spent the majority of his life in service to Noctis and the Crown. Without that, he's drifting and aimless. He's been conditioned to be needed, and without a sense of purpose, he's floundering.

"All the time."

Gladio sets his glass aside and moves forward. Ignis instinctively retreats, but there's nowhere to go. He bumps into the counter behind him as Gladio invades his personal space, reaches out and pushes strands of hair from his eyes. His hand brushes against Ignis' cheek on the way down and lands on his hip.

Ignis can't breathe. The alcohol has dulled his senses and slowed his reaction time, and all he can do is stare back at Gladio's hooded eyes, confused by the abrupt switch in mood and by the unexpected desire to let Gladio do as he pleases. He should push Gladio away. He should laugh or mock him for this, for pretending to be such a ladies man when he's clearly anything but, but Ignis stays quiet and still and waits for something to happen.

"Tell me no and I'll back off," Gladio says.

When Ignis can't bring himself to say no, the hand lifts from his hip and curls around the back of his neck. Gladio's mouth descends upon his, his lips hungry and demanding and Ignis forgets all the reasons why he should put a stop to it.

He's not used to this sort of thing. Previous encounters began with hesitant, introductory kissing and fumbling, uncertain touches, with men like himself who were just as inexperienced and unsure. Gladio doesn't pull his punches. He does not hesitate or second guess himself. He knows exactly what he wants, and he knows exactly what he's doing. And Gods, does he know how to kiss.

Ignis is sure this is a mistake, that if they allow this, it will ruin a lifelong friendship, but a heady combination of lust and whiskey drowns out his ability to think about this with a clear and rational head. In the moment, Ignis is too lost, too lonely, and too full of need to truly consider the consequences. It feels too good to pay attention to reason or logic.

Gladio paws at Ignis' dress shirt and fumbles with the buttons, grows impatient with his own alcohol impaired fingers and grabs a handful of fabric instead. He tugs hard on the shirt and buttons pop, one-two-three until Ignis stays his hand and undoes the rest himself.

"That was my favorite shirt."

"I'll buy you a new one," Gladio says.

Ignis is about to scold him for it, but Gladio palms him through his trousers, and Ignis forgets what he was saying. He forgets about the damaged shirt and all the reasons why they shouldn't do this. He wants more, Gods does he want more, and he leans into the counter for support. Gladio grips him firmly, squeezes, and smiles at the low moan he receives in response.

"We're not doing this in my kitchen, where I prepare food," Ignis hisses. "I have a bed, you know."

Gladio laughs at him, but something in his expression softens and his next kiss is much gentler than the first.

Ignis is almost disappointed. He's not used to being manhandled this way, but he rather enjoys Gladio's bold and rough approach. Perhaps this is what was missing from previous encounters, this element of raw physicality. Others were perhaps too intellectual and as prone to overthinking things as Ignis.

"I don't recall telling you to slow down," Ignis says. "Continue."

"So it's like that, huh?"

Gladio's laugh is low and throaty and he bites down on Ignis' lip, almost hard enough to draw blood.

Clothing is shed like a trail of breadcrumbs on their way to the bedroom, and Ignis surrenders himself to pure sensation without thought. For a while, he forgets about the boredom and loneliness of his days, about the choices that led him here, he forgets about Noctis and Prompto, and even his own lost status and failures. For a while, there's nothing to think about but finding release, something Gladio seems more than willing to give him.

When it's done, Ignis leans his forehead against the wall above the headboard, panting, breathless and trembling. Gladio's body, sticky with sweat, stays pressed against his back his arms wrapped tight around Ignis' torso, and leaves a trail of soft kisses from the base of Ignis' neck to his shoulder.

It's sweet. Almost loving. And strange, after such an intense and physical experience.

It's only then that Ignis wonders what possessed Gladio to come onto him in the first place. Ignis is not exactly Gladio's type, and he never has been. Gladio is certainly not his type. Ignis prefers lean, pretty, intellectual men, though Gladio is far more intellectual than his outward appearance would suggest. And though Gladio is an attractive man, Ignis has never once found him attractive in this way. Not until tonight, anyway.

With a satisfied hum, Gladio kisses Ignis' shoulder once more, then releases him to flop down into the pillow.

"Damn, I needed that," Gladio says.

"Same," Ignis agrees.

He pushes away from the wall and joins Gladio, the pleasant ache of satisfaction still humming in his veins. Whatever stresses he carried are temporarily silenced, frustrations on hold.

Long strands of hair stick to Gladio's face and neck and Ignis dares to brush them away from his cheeks.

"You are sorely in need of a haircut."

Gladio laughs and settles into the pillow, his eyes soft and glittery in the amber lamplight.

"That's all you have to say to me?" he asks.

"You could also use a shave."

Gladio frowns. "Seriously?"

"What do you want me to say, Gladio?"

"I dunno. A little praise would be nice."

Ignis sighs and rolls onto his back. "You've never needed to be told when you've done a good job. Why start now?"

"So... I did good?" Gladio asks with a slow grin.

"Yes, but your ego is about to ruin it," Ignis says. "You've no need to be so insecure."

"Yeah," Gladio says and the grin falls away. "You're right. Sorry about the lamp, by the way. I'll replace it."

"I would expect so," Ignis says with false irritability. "If I'd known this would involve the destruction of my personal property, I would have thrown you out after supper."

Gladio slides an arm around Ignis' waist and his kiss this time is sweet, slow, appreciative. Ignis reciprocates. A part of him wishes they could stay like this, forget the world, forget duty, and just... be.

"Mind if I crash here?" he asks.

"It's a big bed," Ignis says. "We can share."

* * *

Nyx puts the pedal to the floor the rest of the drive. It's risky to keep going, especially with Prompto only half with him. The kid sits slumped against the window, his arms wrapped around his middle, and stares at his reflection in the side mirror. His eyes aren't glowing anymore, but that doesn't stop Nyx from checking.

Whatever happened back there, whatever that magic was, it took every last daemon down, all at once. Nyx has never seen magic that powerful before. Not even Crowe, the most gifted of the Glavie's mages, is strong enough to take down that many deamons in one go, by herself.

The way the kid looked before he cast his spell concerns him. It looked daemonic, but the magic that came out of him was something else entirely.

"You okay, kid?"

"...fine."

"We're almost there," he says. "Hopefully, they'll let us back in."

"What do we do if they don't?"

"We wait until morning," Nyx says. "But, it's well lit, so there's not much chance of another attack."

"Good to know."

They fall into silence again and Prompto leans back in his seat, no longer interested in the mirror. Instead, he stares at his hands. Opens them, closes them, and looks at them from every possible angle.

"That magic earlier," Nyx says after a while, "part of it looked like something I've only seen in daemons."

Prompto casts Nyx a weary glance and his hands drop back to his thighs.

"First I'm a spy, then I'm an MT," Prompto says. "Now you think I'm a daemon? Next you'll tell me I'm secretly the Emperor of Niflheim."

Nyx can't fault his bitterness. The kid's had a rough go of it, and it started well before he was accused of being a Nif.

"They ever tell you how they make MT's?" Nyx asks.

"Nobody ever tells me anything."

"They're infused with Starscourge when they're kids."

The boy looks at his hands again and falls into silence for a minute or two.

"You think they did that to me?" he asks after a while.

"That's a good question," Nyx says. "But I don't know."

Prompto sighs and wipes a hand down his face. He turns his gaze back to the night, where daemons roam just beyond the road.

"After all the tests they've done, wouldn't they know if I was?" Prompto says. "Besides, aren't daemons afraid of light? I don't know if you noticed, but I don't melt in sunshine."

"Fair point," Nyx says. "You've never done anything like that before?"

"No," Prompto says quietly. "I didn't even know I could."

The gates are closed when they arrive at the wall. Due to increased daemon activity, they're not letting anyone in until dawn. Nyx parks the truck under a spotlight, switches off the engine and rolls down the window.

"You can bed down in the back if you want," he says.

"I'm good here," Prompto says. "Probably won't sleep anyway."

Nyx considers the kid for a minute. On paper, he's suspicious all the way around. There's the codeprint, his friendship with the Prince and the Oracle, the letters, sneaking around after hours, and now this half-daemon, half-holy magic.

Yet, if he's more than just a goofy kid who lucked into unlikely friendships and a job with the Crownsguard, he's done a bang-up job of fooling everyone. He's almost sickeningly honest, he wears his heart on his sleeve, and those wounded puppy eyes evoke sympathy in even Drautos, as jaded and bitter as he is.

In spite of all evidence to the contrary, Nyx does not believe the kid's a fraud. He can't say why when there are so many signs that he isn't what he says he is. Maybe it's because there's something sad and vulnerable and sincere about him. Maybe it's because he's busted his ass to prove himself, with so many odds stacked against him. Maybe it's because he's fought so hard to keep up with the others, an underdog with zero chance of winning the race.

Nyx is a sucker for an underdog. He's also a sucker for lost and broken kids who don't believe in themselves.

Crowe was one of them, once upon a time. She came to the Kingsglaive a skinny, dirty, sad little mess. Shunned by her village for what she was and what she could do, called a witch and even a daemon, assaulted, abused, shamed and starved for affection, Crowe had little hope of ever being okay. And she wasn't, for a long time. She didn't trust that the uniformed men and women around her had good intentions. Not even Libertus, who rescued her, was spared her distrust or her wrath when she was afraid.

Prompto and Crowe couldn't be more different on the surface, but they have a lot in common. Both had the deck stacked against them from the start. Both are outcasts for what they are. Both are kind-hearted, though Crowe only shows it to close friends, children, and people she senses are as wounded as she is. Both suffered childhood traumas and abuse, and both are deeply vulnerable in their own way, Crowe is just better at hiding it.

They're also both fiercely determined and no matter how many times they get knocked down, they dust themselves off and get back up.

Crowe no longer needs Nyx and Libertus to look out for her, but Prompto does. Nyx realized months ago the man they beat up down in the Waiting Room was Prompto's supposed father.

It's left scars on him. It's why he hesitates to fight back in training, why he flinches when he gets hit, and it's what will get him killed out there beyond the wall.

He needs someone to build him up. Someone to trust he is what he says he is. Someone to see beyond the jokes and sarcasm, beyond the codeprint, past his bleeding heart, to the kid who's a fighter, a survivor, and a loyal citizen of Lucis.

If Nyx doesn't do it, no one else will.

"Hey kid?"

"Yeah?"

"You did good out there," Nyx says. "Shitty driving aside, you did good."

Prompto looks at his hands and nods.

"Thanks."

* * *

Noctis slips out of his apartment while Rhys, his current advisor-slash-nanny is busy handling the aftermath of a small kitchen fire caused by Noctis' attempt to cook for himself. Grilled cheese didn't look that complicated when Ignis made it.

He's not sure where he's going. His plan to escape extended as far as sneaking out. If Ignis was still around, Noctis would not have made it out of the apartment. Now, he finds himself on the sidewalk outside the building without a destination in mind, only the desire to go somewhere, anywhere, as long as it isn't his place, where he's constantly reminded of his obligations and of what is missing from his life.

It's not that Rhys is unkind or even inept. The guy tries hard to win Noctis over and he does a decent job looking after him. He wants to befriend Noctis and earn his trust, but it isn't the same. Ignis has been there since they were both children. Ignis has seen him at his worst, through stomach viruses and bad dreams, through good days and bad. Rhys is a stranger who probably won't last, just like the others.

At times like this, when Noctis desperately needed escape, Ignis understood and allowed him his occasional adventure. Ignis usually took the blame if they were caught. Absconded was the word Clarus used, and Ignis never disagreed, even when Noctis tried to tell the truth.

Noctis gets on the subway without a plan and rides it around the entire city as people come and go. He wonders what his life would be like if he was like everyone else. Not the son of a King, but a regular person.

He pictures himself in a small 6th floor walk-up apartment somewhere miles away from downtown, Prompto his roommate, their furniture cobbled together from thrift stores and cast-offs. Maybe he'd work at the coffee shop on the corner, or maybe in the mail room of some corporation. Prompto would get a job at a camera store or in a portrait studio and they'd struggle to make rent, but there would be no obligations, no shadow of his father's crown hanging over his head, no specter of past Kings nor a future of self-sacrifice for the good of the Kingdom.

It's a pretty picture. One that grows more and more appealing by the day.

They all act like he doesn't understand what awaits him. Like he doesn't take it seriously, but he does. He's almost too aware of how the strain of upholding the wall has aged his father. He sees it in his salt and pepper hair and in the lines on his face. He sees it in his father's heavy limp and hears it in his tired voice. The crystal bleeds the life out of him, one day at a time, and someday, not so long from now, Noctis will stand in his place and die slowly for the sake of his people.

Gladio tells him to grow up and take an interest in the office he will someday hold, yet he hasn't really been brought up to be a King. He doesn't participate in wartime planning or negotiations. He's not expected to meet diplomats, or be involved in political and military decisions the way his father and his grandfathers were when they were his age. They were brought up to rule. The only thing he's expected to do is train. Otherwise, his father leaves him to his own devices.

If Regis were to die today, Noctis wouldn't know where to start.

He gets off the train at a station somewhere far from downtown. The street above is full of activity, music and people. The architecture and the way people are dressed suggests this is a working-class neighborhood, but the atmosphere is festive. A band plays on the terrace of a nearby restaurant and colored lights are strung between the lamp posts along the street.

No one would know there was a war on, at least, not on the surface. It's only in the graffiti in the alleyways that Noctis notices a bit of dissent against the Crown.

What good is a King who can't protect his people?

He catches a whiff of something delicious and looks upon a row of street vendors and cafes with appreciation. From a food cart, he buys some unspecified meat on a stick that's seasoned to perfection and utterly devoid of vegetables. He savors it as he continues down the street and takes in the atmosphere.

A man in a Kingsglaive uniform catches his eye and reminds him of Prompto. He follows for a while and thinks of Prompto going to war. The Kingsglaive see actual battle, and they're definitely no joke. Prompto, for as fit and healthy as he seemed last night, is more fragile than he lets on. War and bloodshed will not have a positive impact on him without some friends around to rely on.

Noctis can only hope he's made friends who will look out for him on the battlefield and keep his spirits up when they're not.

He takes out his phone and scrolls through numbers until he finds Prompto's. Noctis doesn't know why he's calling. It's not like Prompto can answer.

"Heyaz, leave a message!"

Noctis hangs his head and sniffles as the line beeps. He hits the end button and wipes his eyes as a wave of sorrow crashes over him.

"I'm sorry," he says to the night. "For everything."

* * *

Ignis wakes to a shrill ring from the nightstand beside him. He reaches out to silence it, but the time on the digital display reads 4:26, and his alarm is set for six. Beside the clock, Gladio's phone buzzes against the wood and flashes an obnoxious blue light.

He nudges Gladio with his foot and reaches for the phone.

"Wake up. It's Noctis."

Gladio grunts into the pillow and covers his face with his arm as the phone continues to ring.

With a sigh, Ignis takes the call.

"Why're you answering Gladio's phone at four in the morning?" Noctis slurs. "I call you by mistake?"

"Never you mind," Ignis says. He sits up and shakes Gladio's shoulder. Gladio grunts and turns his face away. "What's wrong? Where is your caretaker?"

Noctis laughs, then sniffles.

"Probably doesn't even know I'm gone," he says.

Ignis sighs. "Tell me where you are."

"I...I don't know. I think I'm lost?"

He sounds intoxicated, but the word lost implies he's facing more than a mere directional challenge.

"Everything's shit, Ignis," he says. "It's all shit."

"Where are you?" Ignis asks gently. He reaches for his glasses on the nightstand and flicks on the light. "We'll come get you."

"Subway station," Noctis says.

"Which one?"

"...East Cross. I think."

"Stay where you are," Ignis says as he gathers the remnants of the broken lamp from the floor. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"...okay."

Ignis hangs up and sets the phone aside. He tosses the broken glass in the wastebasket in the bathroom and tries not to think of how and why it broke. When he returns to the bedroom, he shakes Gladio again, harder this time.

"Wake up," he demands. "Noctis is in trouble."

"Huh, wha?" Gladio asks and lifts his head from the pillow. "Wadda 'bout Noct?"

"Get up or so help me, I will drag you out of that bed by your ankles."

Ignis dresses quickly and is buttoning up a clean shirt before Gladio even manages to wrench himself into a sitting position. Only then does Ignis notice the bruises on his wrists and wonders what other marks Gladio left on him. Not that he's complaining.

From the kitchen and the hall, he gathers Gladio's clothing. He avoids making eye contact when he returns to the bedroom and tosses the wads of clothing onto the bed.

Whatever happened between them tonight, Ignis is unsure about it and where it will lead, if anywhere at all. For now, he'll blame it on the whiskey, boredom, and loneliness, and hold onto hope that it hasn't wrecked their long-standing friendship. For as enjoyable an experience as it was, Ignis is not sure it was a wise choice.

Gladio rubs his eyes and reaches for his pants as Ignis puts on his shoes. Ignis no longer intoxicated himself, but Gladio seems to be suffering the ill-effects of overindulgence.

"Up, Gladio," Ignis commands. "You have a duty to attend to."

"Yeah, yeah," Gladio grumbles. "I'm up."

Gladio curses as he shoves his legs into his pants, stands and hitches the denim up over his hips. It's hard not to stare, and Ignis turns away, adjusts his glasses and runs a hand through his bed tousled hair.

They don't discuss the night's events on their way to the station. They don't talk about anything of importance, and Ignis struggles to make small talk. Gladio responds with grunts and monosyllabic answers, and he too, seems to want to avoid eye contact. Ignis gives up and lapses into silence as they ride the train to East Cross station to rescue Noctis from his own bad choices.

Noctis sits on the steps, halfway between the platform and the street above. He's slumped against the wall, eyes closed, and he smells like he bathed himself in liquor. Ignis crouches down and slaps his cheek. Noctis bats his hand away.

"Quiddit."

"Noctis, can you stand?"

"Specs?"

Noctis opens his eyes and peers up at Ignis, looking much closer to a boy than a man. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot as though he's been crying.

"What have you done to yourself?" Ignis says, but not without sympathy.

"I don't know how to fix anything," Noctis says. "I'm no King."

Ignis doesn't doubt Noctis will someday make a good King, but at the moment, he's a drunken, pathetic mess.

"Let's get you home, before you make the morning papers," Ignis says and helps Noctis to his feet.

Noctis sways and turns to Ignis with tears in his eyes. He throws his arms around Ignis in a brief, rare, but welcome embrace. Ignis returns the embrace and holds onto Noctis until his tears pass.

It makes him feel whole again to be there for him. He's not supposed to, and it would have been more prudent to send Gladio alone, but Noctis needs him and Gladio would be unlikely to allow him this moment of weakness.

Both his boys are gone, and Ignis needs to be needed. Is it any wonder he turned to Gladio?

Noctis stumbles a few times on the steps, and when they board the train bound for downtown, he slumps into the first available seat with a mournful sigh.

There aren't many passengers on the train at this hour. Most seem to be either on their way to work or in the same sorry state as Noctis and keep their eyes averted or closed against the harsh light. Gladio remains standing, one hand grasping the handhold above as the train starts to move, but Ignis seats himself next to Noctis and drapes a supportive arm around his shoulders.

"I shouldn't have gone," Noctis says. He slumps against Ignis and closes his eyes. "It only made me miss him more."

"Gone where?" Ignis asks.

"Can't tell you."

"If you went to see Prompto, that was a damn stupid thing to do," Gladio says. It's the first complete sentence he's uttered since he woke up, and his voice is still thick with sleep and intoxication. "You tryin' to get him killed?"

Noctis shakes his head, but he doesn't open his eyes. Ignis meets Gladio's stare with one of his own. It's a loaded look, one that says Gladio holds him responsible. For not being there. For landing them in this situation in the first place. For what Gladio saw as Ignis choosing Prompto over his duty to Noctis.

His decisions were not quite that simple, but Gladio has never quite understood that he did it not just for Prompto, but for Noctis, too.

"This behavior cannot continue, Noct," Ignis says. "You are not a boy anymore and you are too old for adventuring after curfew. And furthermore, you put yourself at risk by wandering off alone. I know you are not fond of your new advisor, but you will show him proper respect, do I make myself clear?"

"Forget it," Gladio says. "He's not listening."

Noctis' head lolls into Ignis' shoulder and his mouth is slack. He's either already asleep or halfway there. Just like old times.

When the train stops downtown, Gladio lifts the dozing Prince to his feet and holds him there until he wakes up.

"Leave me alone," Noctis says.

"You're gonna walk," Gladio says. "Start moving."

It's only a few blocks to Noctis' apartment, but it takes twenty minutes to get there. Noctis stops every few feet and latches onto anything he can grab hold of to lean against. After the sixth time, Gladio grumbles and hauls Noctis up over his shoulder and carries him the rest of the way.

"Wait here," Gladio says to Ignis at the door. "I'll just be a minute."

Ignis waits on a bench across the street. He's tired, a little uncertain, and a lot guilty about what Noctis must see as abandonment. Ignis is only twenty-one, yet he feels ancient for all the responsibility thrust upon him at so young an age. He's failed in those responsibilities and misjudged Noctis' ability to cope without him.

He's let Noctis down by not teaching him how to stand on his own or care for himself and now Noctis is a drowning man in love with the sea. He does not have the tools or the will to save himself without Ignis and Prompto by his side.

Gladio returns a few minutes later and crosses the street to join him. He sits and assumes a relaxed posture, legs stretched out, arm draped along the back of the bench like he owns it.

"Don't beat yourself up," he says.

"Easier said than done," Ignis admits. "If I were there, he wouldn't have made it past the hall."

"That's because you know him," Gladio says. "These others, they don't have a clue, and they don't know what to do with him half the time."

That doesn't make Ignis feel any better about the situation. He sits back, cleans the lenses of his glasses on his shirt and settles them back on his face, unsure of where to go from here.

"You think he really went to see Prompto?" Gladio asks.

"Perhaps," Ignis says. "Though I can't imagine how he got in without being detected."

Gladio grunts his agreement. He shifts forward and leans his elbows against his knees, casts Ignis a sideways glance.

"So, can we talk about what happened earlier or are we just gonna pretend it didn't happen?"

"We could always blame it on the alcohol," Ignis says.

Gladio snorts, but he smiles at the sidewalk. "I usually reserve that excuse for one-night stands."

It's difficult to discern his meaning and Ignis is too tired to puzzle it out. He pushes to his feet, brushes imaginary dirt from his pants and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Let's call it a moment of weakness, then," Ignis says. "Or perhaps convenience."

Gladio shrugs. "Alright."

Ignis ignores the twinge of disappointment, says goodnight, and returns to his quiet, empty and lonely apartment and sits awake in the dark with the smell of Gladio's cologne still on the sheets, wondering if there isn't something more to it, or if it really was just a one-time drunken mistake.

* * *

Prompto doesn't sleep a wink, though he tries. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees daemons, the stranger, Pryna and the darkness that wants to eat him alive. He alternates between chill and fever, mild anxiety and repressed terror, unsure if the crawling sensation under his skin is real or imagined.

At dawn, the gates to the city open again. He half expects the rising sun to burn him to ash, but it only chases the chill from his bones. He doesn't watch the city pass outside the window, but stares at his hands as if they're going to become something else if he looks away too long.

They're just his hands, and nothing more.

There are no answers to be found there, nor in his reflection in the side mirror.

It's another hour before they're back at the compound. There's no pep in Prompto's step and he keeps his eyes on the ground as they return to the main hall. Drautos greets them, and angles his head toward the stairs to the basement lab.

"Took you long enough," Drautos says.

"Wasn't by choice, Sir," Nyx says.

"Cut the sir crap," Drautos. "What happened?"

"Ran into some daemons on the way back," Nyx said.

Drautos flicks his eyes toward Prompto.

"How did that go?"

"Daemons are always a good time," Nyx says. "But I swear, they're getting stronger."

"That's because they are," Drautos says. "Meldacio reports there are more than there used to be."

"I can see the Empire exploiting that somehow."

"That makes two of us," Drautos says and turns to Prompto. "How did you hold up out there?"

"Still alive," Prompto says.

"Good. You got in some real-world experience," Drautos says. "That'll help."

"Yeah," Prompto says without enthusiasm. "Guess so."

"Let's see how the chip held up."

Prompto scowls and covers a yawn, but he follows Drautos to the lab without the usual complaints. Once behind the closed door, he takes a seat and holds out his wrist. Drautos unfastens the bracelet and connects it to a computer.

The screen fills with scrolling data. Prompto watches it, but it's going too fast and what he does catch makes no sense to him. It's just random strings of numbers and symbols that don't mean anything. He gives up, leans back in his seat, and fixes his eyes on an MT inside its protective box across the room. It twitches every now and then, still alive, though disabled.

He wonders if they can think, if they have feelings, or if their humanity is crushed by what they were made to be. He wonders, if left alone, if they'd be normal people with normal wants and needs.

It's tragic to think this happened to them against their will. It would be one thing if they volunteered for it, if they gave up their humanity to serve a cause they believed in, but everything he knows about them now says the opposite. The more he sees them, the less afraid he is. The more he learns, the sadder it makes him.

Maybe he really is like them, but by some stroke of luck, was spared from the same fate. Someone brought him here to keep it from happening, or maybe just to study like an experiment. If the latter is the case, he's still an experiment, just one of a different kind.

"Excellent," Drautos says. "The range extends farther than we thought."

"Great," Prompto says. "So what now?"

"You continue to train," Drautos says, "and prepare for the upcoming trials."

It goes unspoken that if he passes, he'll be sent into the next battle, to fight and maybe die. It seemed so abstract before, the idea of being on the front lines of war, but with the prospect looming in the very near future, the reality is finally dawning on him.

"You guys think I'm ready?" he asks.

"Yeah, kid," Nyx says. "I think you're gonna do just fine."

* * *

The week passes too quickly. Prompto is a ball of nervous energy, between preparations for the trials and concerns about what happened in Leide. The only thought he has to cheer him is that maybe, once this is all over, Ignis' name will be cleared and the charges against him lifted.

In the training yard, he fights seasoned members of the Kingsglaive and only sometimes gets his ass kicked. He tracks the others as they warp around the training yard and sometimes even wings them. He runs ten miles in the mornings, works his way through the agility course over and over until he knows it by memory, tries to warp again and again and fails. During breaks, he patches up the other recruits, and practices hand-to-hand with Mateo in the afternoons. His self-defense is still lacking, but he's less hesitant to hit or be hit. In the evenings, they play cards and listen to the radio.

He doesn't sleep much. His dreams are full of terrible things when he does, and more than once, he's wakes convinced he's covered in miasma, and out of breath with that second heartbeat a steady pulse in his ears.

It's enough to crush whatever confidence he gained during the day's activities. No matter how strong or competent he's become, there's still a strong possibility he's compromised.

The morning of the trials, he gets out of bed before the others and savors a long, hot shower in peace. It calms him, but only for a while. When he returns to the dorm, his stomach turns at the thought of the day to come and he feels like he's going to vomit. The others are awake, but only Mateo notices his anxiety. He shoots Prompto a questioning look and Prompto forces a smile.

"I'm good," he lies. "Just need some food. I'm starving."

Mateo pats his stomach in agreement. Prompto can't stand the thought of eating, and he picks at his breakfast for fear of spewing it all over the training grounds later.

It's not as bad as he imagined, and rather like training on any other day, except he's being judged. As expected, he fails to warp and is met with a chorus of laughter from the small audience of off-duty members of the Glaive. He knew he wouldn't be able to, but it kills his confidence and he botches the first part of the agility course he knows so well, and he's positive they're going to throw him out.

"Relax, Plebe," Nyx says during a break. "You're your own worst enemy, you know that?"

"Can I get a do-over?"

"So you fell down a few times," Nyx says and pats his shoulder. "You'll make it up somewhere else."

He tracks a warping Nyx around the training yard and manages three hits on him, which is a new personal record and two more hits than anyone else got. He's met with a round of applause as Nyx shows off his wounds like a proud father and messes up Prompto's hair.

"That one actually hurts," Nyx says and sticks his finger in a trench in his arm. "Good job, kid."

There are only a few trials left, and the last one is a sure bet he'll make a spectacle of himself, and not in a good way. How is he supposed to defend himself against Crowe when he's developed a bit of a crush on her? She's tough and unforgiving in training, but he doesn't want to hurt her. Even if she will forgive him for it, even if she is a soldier who signed up for this, it's not in his nature to hurt girls.

"You can't think of her as an ally right now," Nyx says as Prompto prepares for the fight. "If you go easy on her, and she'll kick your ass twice as hard. Not just because she can, but because she's disappointed in you."

"Ugh," Prompto complains. "Somehow, that's even worse."

Nyx chuckles and pats him on the back.

"Focus on defense," Nyx says. "The goal is to avoid her attacks, not to take her down."

For the first ten minutes, Prompto doesn't do well. Her first barrage of fire hits him and sends him sprawling, covered in flames and he rolls in the dirt to keep from getting burned.

His nerves are shot, he's jittery and that strange heat starts to build in his chest as he dodges the next set. The only advantage he has is speed, but as fast as he is, she lands more hits than she misses because his focus is off.

He chances a glance to the sidelines and sees disappointment in Nyx's face, and an odd sort of satisfaction in Drautos' cold smile. It sends a shiver down his spine, and he's reminded not of the Drautos he's come to grudgingly respect, but the one he met in the interrogation room. The one who scared the daylights out of him.

Prompto can't afford to fail. He can't afford to let his nerves get to him. He has to see this through, no matter what. For Iggy. For Noctis. He can't quit. There's no option to give up.

He wipes sweat and soot from his brow and prepares for the next round, resolved to do whatever it takes to prove himself. He dodges the next series, hits the ground and rolls away from three consecutive blasts of fire.

As he pops back up and fires on her, an agonizing sensation tears through his shoulder blades, like his bones are splintering apart. He drops his gun as his feet lift off the ground and a rush of wind surrounds him. The muscles of his back scream in pain and he soars toward the sky, propelled by a force he doesn't understand.

Everything stops, as it did before in the desert. Everyone below is frozen in place, their faces upturned and their eyes fixed on him. Crowe, Nyx, Mateo, even Drautos wear matching expressions of awe, mouths agape and eyes unblinking and shining like glass in the sunlight.

The stranger stands on the wall above the yard. He tips his hat and gives a slow clap, but his face is stained in streaks of black and his mouth twists into a nasty scowl.

"Take care not to fly too close to the sun, dear Prompto," the stranger says. "Wouldn't want to get burned, now would you?"

The edges of his scar start to burn and Prompto begins to panic. They can't see this. They'll know he's more than he says he is, something different and maybe something demonic, but panic only feeds it. Power swells and courses through his limbs like electricity and his body is wrapped in light. Not miasma this time, but a pure white that obscures the view of the grounds below.

He can't stop it and he has a split second to think of Crowe and her safety before the magic explodes from his chest and the world starts moving again.

Crowe cries out in pain and Prompto echoes the sound with a whimper of his own as he lists to the side, thirty feet in the air. Whatever force held him aloft gives way and he crashes to the ground. There's a sickening crunch of bone as his ankle snaps on impact.

He looks up to the wall as he slumps into the dirt, but the stranger is not there anymore. Pryna sits in his place, still as a statue, her eyes a bright blue flame in the sun.

Something soft and warm covers his body. A blanket, he thinks, until he sees snow-white flight feathers laid against his arm. He glides his fingertips over one of them and it tingles all the way to the muscles of his back, as if the feather is as much a part of him as his hands or toes.

Uncomprehending, he looks up at Nyx and Mateo, who crouch before him with matching expressions of astonishment.

"You okay?" Nyx asks.

Prompto can only blink at him. He's too shaken and disoriented to speak or make sense of the question. He's not even sure if he knows what okay means anymore.

Crowe is still on the ground only a few feet away, still and unmoving, her hair unbound and tangled. Blood pours from one of her nostrils and her hands are singed and covered in ash. He's wounded her. Badly.

"What did I do?" he whispers, his throat too tight to speak out loud.

"She's alright," Nyx says. "Just knocked out."

Prompto touches the feathers again and they evaporate into shimmery dust under his palm. He stares at his hand, spent and shaking as the phantom wing dissolves. His injured ankle starts to throb but his toes have gone numb inside his boot. He's so tired, so tired he doesn't have the energy to be afraid anymore.

Drautos looms over him, his expression sour, and Prompto wishes he could curl up in some dark corner and sleep forever.

"Get him up."

Mateo helps Prompto to his feet, but he can't put any weight on his wounded ankle. He's still disoriented and now he's dizzy, too.

"Where the hell did that come from?" Drautos demands.

Prompto looks up at him and his vision blurs. There's not one, but two of him, one clad in gleaming armor, the other in Kingsglaive black. The sunlight is too bright and his double heartbeat drowns out every other sound.

"Still think I'm a robot?" Prompto asks, then his eyes slip shut and he slumps back to the ground with a heavy thud.

* * *

Prompto wakes in the infirmary. His ankle is splinted and bandaged and there's a tube in his arm attached to a bag of clear fluid on a stand. On the bed next to his, Crowe is asleep, Nyx and Libertus seated in chairs beside her.

"Welcome back, Plebe," Nyx says.

"Is Crowe okay?" Prompto asks. He rubs his gritty eyes and sits up. "How bad was it?"

"She's fine," Nyx says. "Just resting."

Nyx gets up and moves his chair to Prompto's side.

"How's the ankle?"

"Good, I guess," Prompto says. "Can't really feel it."

He wiggles his toes to make sure they're still there. They respond like they should and Prompto leans back into his pillow, too tired to be relieved.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"For what?"

"For messing up today," he says. "And for Crowe... I didn't mean to hurt her."

"You didn't mess up," Nyx says and smirks. "And she's not pissed at you. You impressed the hell out of her, actually."

Prompto blinks at him. "Impressed? I... why?"

Nyx rubs his hands together and his smirk drops away.

"It's not often you see a Plebe sprout wings and fly."

Fly? When did he fly?

Well, maybe that explains the feathers, but it explains literally nothing else about this. Not where the magic came from, or what it was, or why he has no control over it.

"How do you think you wound up thirty feet in the air?" Nyx asks and pats his leg. "Never seen Drautos speechless before. Made my day, kid."

Prompto cringes at the mention of his name. He's going to have to answer for it, and he doesn't have any answers to give.

The only thing thing he can say is that maybe the stranger did something to him in that convenience store. Poisoned him or infected him or something. But if he talks about that, he's going to sound crazy.

"It was Holy," Crowe says, her voice hoarse. She sits up, clears her throat and turns to him, her dark eyes serious and a little afraid. "The magic you used. It's called Holy."

Prompto bites his lip and bows his head.

"I didn't mean to... I couldn't stop it," he says. "I'm sorry."

Her smile is crooked, but warm. She looks to Nyx and Libertus and angles her head toward the door.

"Give us a minute?"

"Sure," Nyx says. He stands, squeezes Crowe's shoulder and ushers Libertus out. "Let's go get a drink."

Crowe climbs out of bed, her movements stiff and her eyes bright with pain. Prompto has hurt her worse than she's letting on, and he almost tears up over it, but then she sits at the end of the bed, cross-legged and draws his bandaged ankle into her lap. She pinches one of his toes and frowns.

"This is too tight," she says. "It's cutting off your circulation."

Prompto blushes furiously at the contact. He's never had a pretty girl, let alone a beautiful woman, be so familiar outside of a stolen kiss or two back during his school days. It's almost motherly, the way she unbinds the bandage to examine the bruises and swelling left behind.

"Magic like that, what you did today... It's very rare and very powerful," she says. "If you use it right, you could take down an entire regiment of Imperials in one go."

"I don't know how to use it," he says. "It just happened."

"That's because you're afraid of it," she says and clears her throat again. "I used to be afraid, too. When I was a kid, they called me a witch and..." She takes a deep breath. "The first time it happened, I accidentally killed someone. I was eight."

Prompto's anxiety is immediately replaced by sympathy. He can't imagine what that must have been like.

"I was afraid for a long time. Afraid of myself, of other people, of everything. But then I learned how to control it, and I've learned to accept that it's part of who I am."

She tests his ankle, supporting his heel in her palm as she gently moves his foot. It's stiff and there's a dull ache when the joint is turned inward, but the worst of the pain is gone.

"You'll learn, too," she says.

"Yeah," Prompto says. "If Drautos doesn't lock me up forever for sucking so bad."

Crow smiles as she begins to bind his ankle again, looser than before but still tight enough to keep it immobile. The feeling in his toes slowly returns.

"You didn't suck," she says. "Your only problem is a lack of confidence. That's the only thing holding you back."

It's an echo of what Cor said, not so long ago. It feels like a lifetime since then, but it's been less than a year.

"But I also know, it isn't easy to get over the things or people that destroy your confidence," she says. "That stuff stays with you, years after it stops, sometimes forever..."

There are ten thousand secrets in her eyes when she looks up at him, and he feels an unexpected kinship with her. He sees his own pain reflected in her, but also warmth and understanding.

"It's not going to get any easier," she says. "So whatever you've been through, I want you to take all that fear and pain and anger you're trying so hard to hide and use it like a weapon. That's the best advice I can give you."

"Does it make it go away?" he asks in a small voice.

"Not completely," she says. "But is sure as hell helps make it not hurt as much."

She finishes binding his ankle and stands up, pats his leg and returns to her own bed.

"By the way," she says as she settles down into the blankets. "Welcome to the Kingsglaive. You earned it."


	8. Puzzle Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took forever to write, between the holidays and Episode Ignis. I scrapped the whole chapter following my second play through of it because events in the original chapter would have lead to things that mirrored some things in the DLC and I didn't want that. 
> 
> I'll try to get back on my Thu/Fri posting schedule, but there might be delays while I wrap up my other wip. 
> 
> Thank you guys for reading. You guys are amazing. Your kudos and comments make it worth continuing and I'm so happy you're enjoying it so far!

_Dear Luna,_

_I made it, baby! I'm officially Kingsglaive and I'm free! Sort of. Still on restriction until they decide I can be trusted for sure. It's been a long, tough road, and I thought for sure I was a goner a few times, but I survived more or less in one piece. Wish it meant I could see Noct again, but I'll have to settle for getting Iggy's name cleared. Better than nothing, right?_

_I wish I had my camera so I could send you pics of my uniform. The Crownsguard uniforms are pretty awesome, but this is just... wow. It's so rad, I feel like I grew a whole foot when I put it on! Can't help but wonder what the guys would think. Bet they all doubted I'd make it. Heck, I doubted I'd make it._

_But it also means I'll have to go out there and fight, and to be honest with you, I'm scared to death. If this whole thing has taught me anything, it's that I'm not ready to go yet. I thought I'd made my peace with dying and all, but I really want to live so I can help Noct, even if it's only from afar. If I have to fight the Empire to make sure he stays safe, then that's what I gotta do._

_Anyway, there's something I need ask you, and maybe it's going to sound crazy, but have you sent Pryna to look after me? I keep seeing her at the weirdest times. I mean, everything's a little weird with me right now (and I don't even know how to explain all that without sounding like a nutcase) but I just wanted to check because it's really starting to freak me out._

_And thanks, Luna. For being my friend all these years, for your prayers, and for not giving up on me when I couldn't answer your letters. It means a more than you could ever know._

_Your buddy,_

_Prompto_

* * *

Prompto grins at his reflection in the mirror and smooths his palms over the fabric of his uniform jacket. He can't get over how awesome it looks on him or how tough he feels wearing it, like he could take on half an army by himself.

Next to him, Mateo is doing the same. They're the only two of the bunch that made it and they have a right to be proud. Only about six recruits a year make it this far. Give or take.

"Can I borrow your hair gel?" he asks Mateo. "This uniform demands a way cooler hairstyle."

Mateo gives him a thumbs up and flaps his arms gracefully.

"There are worse things you could call me," Prompto says. "I'm big on birds."

"Not just a bird," Mateo says. "A Chocobo."

"Chocobos can't fly," Prompto says as he applies a handful of gel to his limp bangs. "You ever seen one? Like, up close?"

Mateo shakes his head.

"Me neither," Prompto says. "I used to take pictures of pigeons when I was a kid. Wonder if Chocobos mind getting their picture taken..."

He straightens and turns to Mateo, his hair forgotten.

"I just had a great idea!" he says. "What do you say someday you and me go find that chocobo ranch in Duscae and go riding? C'mon, say yes! It'll be awesome, dude!"

"We can race," Mateo says.

Prompto squeals in delight and high-fives him.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Prompto cries. "Chocobos, here we come!"

"Are you two done preening?" Nyx asks from the doorway.

Prompto narrows his eyes at Nyx.

"Dubious choice of words there, buddy."

"Nice hair, Plebe."

"We're not Plebes anymore," Prompto says and puffs out his chest. "We graduated. Or whatever."

"You're a Plebe until I say you're not," Nyx says with a smirk. "Come on. It's about to start."

Prompto puts the final touch on his hair and follows Nyx and Mateo to the training yard. He shouldn't be so nervous about this, but he he is. The next phase of his life is about to begin, and it's not a life he would have chosen for himself, but he finally sees an opportunity to be stronger and braver than he dreamed he could be. He has hope that whatever path the Gods have set him on will eventually put him back in touch with his friends.

The gathering in the training yard is large. More Kingsglaive than Prompto's ever seen at one time are assembled along the walls and the edges of the grounds. Among them, he thinks he spies the Marshal and he lifts his hand to wave. He wonders what Cor is doing here, but he hopes he reports back that this is for real.

The Glaives are all in uniform and Prompto's hit by an unexpected sense of family as they line up to watch the proceedings.

He thinks about his own family and of how they wouldn't have come to see him graduate high school, even if he still lived at home. Most of these people don't even know him, but they've showed up to see him patched in. They cheer for him once he's said his oath, pat him on the back, hug him, and welcome him like he belongs.

But as he receives congratulations from his new family, he clutches the bullet in his gloved palm and wishes Noctis, Iggy and Gladio were here, too.

* * *

Gladio watches Ignis through the small window of a private gymnasium, impressed as always by the way he moves. The time away from daily Crownsguard training has not robbed him of his strength or skill. He knows his own body, and what those long, limber limbs can do.

It's beautiful, like a perfectly choreographed dance. Gladio envies him. No matter how hard he trains, his body will never move like that. Gladio is pure power, but Ignis is all grace.

For over a week now, Gladio has struggled with what happened between them, or why it happened at all. For over a week, he hasn't been able to summon the courage to call or text. He's no longer sure what he's supposed to say.

It complicates things. Though Ignis has not been explicitly forbidden to be in contact with himself or Noctis, it's been suggested they break ties. Ignis has been named a possible traitor to the crown, and it doesn't look good for the Prince's bodyguard to consort with the enemy. Besides that, Gladio isn't sure where Ignis stands, and it's put a strain on their friendship. He said they'd call it convenience, but it didn't feel like convenience at the time.

All that aside, Ignis is no traitor. There's no one in the world who loves Noctis more, not even his own father. Ignis would give his life to keep Noctis safe, and Gladio is only now figuring out that saving Prompto was an extension of that.

Prompto. Gladio still has mixed feelings about the kid, but he's more fond of him than he'll own up to. He might be a bad influence in some ways, but he's the only friend Noctis ever kept, and the only one that drew him out of his shell. Without him, Noctis sleeps too much and has lost interest in the things he used to enjoy, he's angry and broods about things beyond his control, and in the end he does nothing to change it.

Gladio's reasons for being here today are more professional than personal, though by no means a Crownsguard sanctioned visit. He has two pieces of news that Ignis needs to know. He could text both, but it's a good excuse to see Ignis in person.

He opens the door as Ignis executes some kind of twisting no-handed flip that's impressive as hell. Noct's been working on that one too, with far less success. If the two could coordinate that into some double assault link-strike, it would be impressive as hell.

Ignis sticks the landing, then startles at Gladio's unexpected appearance. His face registers surprise, then shame, and Gladio wants to know why. What does he have to be ashamed of?

"Hey, Ig," Gladio says.

"Gladio."

Formal and curt, all his former warmth gone.

Gladio closes the door and takes a couple steps inside. Ignis' posture is stiff. He removes his glasses and cleans them on the hem of his shirt, then replaces them.

"What can I help you with?"

Gladio rubs his chin and paces a circle around the room. He stops near the window, glances outside, then turns to face his friend.

"Got some good news and some potentially interesting news," Gladio says. "Thought you might want to know."

Ignis relaxes minutely. Sweat beads on his forehead and his hair sticks to it. Glaido wants to reach out and brush it away, but he stays where he is.

"Prompto got patched in yesterday," Gladio says. "He's officially Kingsglaive. Crowe says he did real good, and trust me, if she says he did good, she means he killed it."

Ignis' face softens. He almost smiles.

"That is good news. I'm glad to hear it," Ignis says.

"I didn't think he'd make it that far, to be honest with you," Gladio says.

"He's stronger than you give him credit for," Ignis says.

"You'd know better than me."

A moment of uncomfortable silence passes between them. This is more upsetting than anything. There's never been a time when silence was a problem.

"What's the rest?" Ignis asks.

"You and me are having dinner with Cor tonight," Gladio says. "My place."

Ignis' posture changes, no longer insecure but all business, like Gladio's used to.

"You got him to talk?"

"Not yet, but he agreed to sit down with us," Gladio says. "Don't worry about food. I've got that covered."

"I somehow doubt that," Ignis says. "I will not allow you to serve the Marshal doctored-up Cup Noodles for supper."

Gladio chuckles and pats Ignis on the arm, but his laughter dies away when it earns him a flinch and a step back. Goddamn, that hurts. All the way down to his bones.

"Let me handle it," Ignis says. "I'll pick up some steaks on my way home."

Gladio planned on some take-out, but it's hard to turn down Ignis' cooking.

"You don't gotta do that, Ig," Gladio says. "I said I got it covered."

"I insist," Ignis says.

"If you insist," Gladio says. "You're too damn stubborn for your own good sometimes, Iggy. I just want you to know that."

He meant it as a joke, but there's a flash in Ignis' eyes, a split second of hurt, and Gladio kicks himself. He thought maybe they could just go back to being buddies, but it's obvious they've crossed some line they can't easily step back over.

There's a long silence between them. Gladio shifts from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say now or how to broach the subject of their strained friendship. They need to talk about it if it's brought them to this, but Ignis is far more sensitive than he lets on, and Gladio's afraid anything he says is going to make it worse.

"How is Noctis?" Ignis asks.

"Hanging in there. He's gone to some thing at school. New retainer's with him."

"And his grades?"

"Shitty," Gladio says. "I think he's doing it on purpose."

"I wish there was something I could do about that," Ignis says. "But here we are."

"Quit feeling guilty. Noct's a big boy. He can make his own decisions."

"And if those decisions lead him astray?"

"Then he'll have to face the consequences, just like everyone else," Gladio says. He pauses and looks Ignis over. "What about you? Are you okay?"

Ignis flushes and casts his eyes toward the gym mat. Gladio doesn't want him to be ashamed, not of what happened between them, and not because he chose to protect a boy who couldn't protect himself. Even if Gladio doesn't agree with it, he understands why Ignis did it. Whatever Prompto turned out to be, he was the reason Noctis started smiling again all those years ago.

Gladio forgets himself again, steps forward and drops a hand to Ignis' shoulder. Ignis flinches, turns redder, and steps back.

"Please don't."

Gladio's hand falls to his side and he curses himself for everything that brought them to this place in their relationship.

"We're not okay, are we?" Gladio asks.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Your reasons for doing it in the first place."

Gladio sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets. He's not clear on his reasons either, but he thinks about that night and how much he loved making the notoriously straight-laced, uptight Ignis Scientia come completely undone.

"Why did you let me?"

They're at an impasse. Neither is willing to give any ground on the subject, neither willing to admit there could be more.

"You're my best friend in the world, Ig," Gladio says. "Whatever happened, I don't want to lose your friendship, and the way I see it, we've got a few choices here. One, we keep ignoring each other until we're not friends anymore. Two, we go with our original decision and say it was the alcohol and move past it, or..."

Gladio sighs. He doesn't know how to handle this. He's not sure if he's ready to commit, nor is he willing to wreck a friendship over a failed attempt at a relationship, but damn does he want to find out if there's more to this than just convenience. Ignis in bed might be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"I don't want you to stop being my friend just because we got drunk and fucked one night, alright? Let's just let it go, move on, and pick up where we left off, okay? Can we do that?"

"Certainly," Ignis says. There's a frosty edge in his voice. "Was there anything else?"

* * *

_Dear Prompto,_

_I am so relieved to hear from you, and congratulations! I never doubted you'd do well. I know you don't think much of yourself, and I know we've never met in person, but I've always gotten the impression that your will is strong. I've no doubt, that strength will carry you through the battles to come, and I will pray for your safety._

_I've not personally sent Pryna to visit, but if she's come to you, then perhaps you share a bond with her similar to my own due to your kindness when she was wounded. I should like to know the circumstances, if you're willing, so that I might understand better. I'll assume for now that she came to you in a time of need, to aid and support you and lend you her strength. Without further details, I cannot say otherwise._

_You must have gathered by now that Umbra is more than just a pet. The same holds true for Pryna, though their respective talents are quite different. Obviously, Umbra is capable of traveling great distances quickly, unimpeded by geography. Pryna is more of a spiritual guide, for lack of a better explanation. She exists somewhere between our world and the world of the Gods and Astrals. I know that's an insufficient description of what she's capable of, but it's the best I can do. There's much more to it, and more they're able to do, but I'll leave it at that for now._

_Things in Tenebrae are tense at the moment. I am home, but the older I get and the longer the Empire stays, the less it feels like home. It pains me to see how our people suffer at their hands and be able to do nothing about it. I am only allowed certain freedoms because I am the only one capable of holding back the darkness. Every day, I see more and more people afflicted with the scourge, and it is my duty to heal them. If not for that, I fear the Empire would have disposed of me long ago._

_That said, the darkness is coming. I will continue to do my duty, but I fear, it won't be enough. Already, the days grow shorter, the nights longer. I am only one woman, and there are so many afflicted that I'm unable to reach. It pains me to know so many are suffering and that there is nothing I can do to help them._

_But enough about that. I'll pray for you, Prompto._

_Yours,_

_Luna_

* * *

Prompto's first assignment is not a battle, it's gate duty, at the border. Crowe is his assigned babysitter, though Drautos calls her his mentor. He knows the Captain doesn't trust him, but Prompto hasn't given him a reason not to. So far, he's done everything asked of him. He's submitted to every test and trial without complaint.

But he's still some form of MT prototype, and that makes him half an enemy.

Now that he's an official member of the Kingslaive, his training has doubled, not relaxed as he hoped. He spends his morning in combat training with experienced Glaives, and his afternoons with Crowe and the other mages. So far, the latter has proved pointless. Prompto shows absolutely no skill at handling or using magic unless it's in a flask he can toss at something, and so far, he's been unable to replicate the Holy magic he used on the day of the trials.

They take the subway out to the eastern checkpoint. They're in uniform and get odd looks from some of the other passengers. Some faces are full of fear. Others, hate.

"Most of the Kingsglaive are immigrants," Crowe explains. "Or people like me. They only tolerate us because we're the ones going out to fight beyond the wall. If not for us, the Empire would have taken the city years ago, and they know that."

"Why do they hate immigrants so much?" Prompto wonders.

Crowe shrugs. "They're afraid."

"Of what?"

"A lot of things. That they're spies. That they'll be a drain on the city's resources. Or that maybe they'll bring the scourge."

"Has anyone given them a reason to believe any of that?"

"Every now and then, yeah," she says. "But less often than rumor would have you believe."

The train stops and Prompto glances out at the familiar platform. It's just like the others, but different because it was his stop, back when he still lived at home. The only difference now is the advertisements have changed.

It's the familiar face that steals his breath away and he goes completely still as a man boards the train and chooses the empty seat directly across from him.

There's a scar on his face that wasn't there before, directly below his left eye. Kingslaive or not, just the sight of his father causes his heartbeat to double and his palms to sweat. He wants to look away, but he can't stop staring. That dark thing starts to crawl beneath his skin. He's hot and cold at the same time.

Crowe notices and casts a curious glance sideways. She blinks at him, turns his chin toward her, and shakes her head.

"Cool it, kid," she says.

"What?"

"Your eyes are glowing."

"What?" he says again.

She takes a compact from her bag and opens it up. Prompto shivers at his own reflection.

His irises are shocking, bright blue like a gas flame, lit from inside and as noticeable as a flashlight beam in pitch darkness. His double-time heartbeat is thunderous in his ears. He's short of breath. His palms itch.

By now, he knows the signs. If he doesn't get off this train, he might just hurt someone.

Crowe closes the compact and returns it to her bag, then slips her hand into his. It calms him, marginally, and he focuses on breathing, the way she taught him. In through his mouth, out through his nose.

His father has noticed him now. He stares back at Prompto, unable to mask his fear. Whether it's the glowing eyes or the uniform or the woman beside him, Hebeto Argentum is afraid.

It's the first time Prompto's ever seen the man show anything besides annoyance or anger, but it doesn't bring any satisfaction. He's too scared he's going to sprout wings and blast the entire car off the rails.

"Ah, I get it now," Crowe says. Her eyes are fixed on his father and her lips curve into an almost cruel smile. "I understand."

"What?" Prompto asks again, confused.

He swallows down the salty taste in his mouth, a flavor he knows is adrenaline, and one he's long associated with fear. He doesn't understand what's going on. He gets the feeling there's some subtext he's missing.

Crowe's eyes are fixed on the man, and she grins until he looks away. She laughs softly and tightens her grip on Prompto's arm.

They have history, these two. He can feel it as strong as he can feel the power surging through his veins. They've met before, and somehow, she knows who he is to Prompto. She doesn't have to say it for him to know it.

Hebeto Argentum's face is bright red. He stares at some point on the floor, unable or unwilling to look Prompto in the eye.

Prompto's terror turns to sorrow, and then to anger.

"Why couldn't you just be kind to me?" he asks out loud. "That's all I ever wanted."

His father meets his gaze for a split second, then looks away like Prompto is blinding sunlight. Like he can't bear to look too long.

"It's okay, kid," Crowe says gently. "You've got a new family now."

It's loud enough for his father to hear. The man winces, stands up, and flees the car. Prompto watches him until he disappears into the mass of people and through the door and out of his sight.

The throb of magic subsides and with it, all of Prompto's energy. He doesn't ask questions and Crowe doesn't offer answers. He's already put the pieces together.

Crowe and Nyx know Gladio. Foreigners jumped his father. It's all right there, plain as day.

He only has one question:

"Who asked you to beat up my dad?"

Crowe squeezes his arm.

"Was it Gladio?" he asks.

"He was there."

"Not Noctis."

"He was there, too," she says.

Prompto swears under his breath and that old fear bubbles up, along with a resurgence of magical energy. He struggles to suppress it, doesn't want to go into freak-out mode here, of all places, but it's coming. He feels it. It's just underneath his skin, aching to get out.

"Hey," Crowe says. She takes his face between her palms and Prompto searches his memory for a time when his mother comforted him this way. He comes up empty. "It's okay. He can't hurt you."

Over her shoulder, just past the door, the stranger leans against a pole and smiles his benign smile.

He squeezes his eyes shut, and the man is gone, but that unhinged feeling is still there. His shoulder blades start to tingle, his fingers and toes too.

"Crowe, I'm gonna-"

And she drags him into her arms, a hand pressed to the back of his head to draw him to her shoulder like he's child. He doesn't hear what she's saying, but the sound is soothing. It quiets the swell of violence and satisfies some deeper, more desperate need in him, after months of almost no physical contact besides combat and the occasional pat on the shoulder and a single hug from Noctis.

He almost falls apart the way he did in Ignis' kitchen so many years ago. It's only the threat of showing what he is in public that keeps him together.

At the next stop, Crowe tugs him to his feet. It's not their platform, but Prompto doesn't question her choice to get him off the train before it's too late. She leads him to the family restroom, locks the door and seats him on the toilet. At the sink, she wets paper towels and presses one to the back of his neck and hands him the other.

It helps. The tingling dies off, the double rhythm of his heart subsides, and his breathing slows, but it's a while before he finds his voice again.

"It only comes out when you feel threatened," Crowe says. "Is that it?"

Prompto shrugs. "It's only happened twice. Unless you count this."

"It counts," she says. "But I can work with that."

Prompto hopes so. Until he can control it, he's a ticking time bomb. And from the way Crowe's looking at him, he suspects she knows that, too.

* * *

Ignis arrives at Gladio's apartment an hour before Cor is scheduled to arrive. Rock music plays at a low volume from hidden speakers throughout the living room, not to Ignis' taste but soft enough that it isn't irritating. Gladio takes the grocery bag from him as Ignis removes his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack.

"Want something to drink?" Gladio asks. "I've got a bottle of that red you liked."

Ignis does not intend to indulge tonight, lest there be a repeat of the last time he drank too much. Gladio's made it clear his position on things, and Ignis is prepared to accept it. However, if it happened once because they were feeling loose and needy, it could potentially happen again and that would only exacerbate the problem.

"Thank you, but I'll pass."

Gladio sighs. "Alright."

Ignis ties Iris' frilly magenta apron around his waist, the only one Gladio has now that Ignis is not a regular visitor, and sets about preparing the meal. Thick steaks, creamed potatoes, and pan-seared white asparagus with a dilled lemon sauce, as he's heard it's Cor's favorite. Can't hurt to indulge the man, after all.

Gladio sips on a glass of whiskey and watches him work.

"I'm sure there's something on the television you can watch until Cor arrives," Ignis says.

"Damn, what crawled up your butt?"

Ignis drops his spoon and turns a sour glare on him.

"Perhaps it's being given no notice of a dinner engagement," Ignis says, "or simply because we  _got drunk and fucked one night_  and I'm not allowed to be confused about it."

"Is that what's bugging you?" Gladio asks.

"That and much more."

Gladio drops a hand to Ignis' shoulder. Ignis shrugs it off.

"Don't touch me."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Gladio asks. "I thought we were on the same page here and now you're acting like a jealous girlfriend."

Ignis picks up his spoon and turns back to his marinade.

"Forgive me if I have a difficult time understanding why," Ignis says. "Or your ability to brush it off like it means nothing to you."

Gladio rubs his chin and sighs. "C'mon, Iggy. I don't want to argue."

"Nor do I," Ignis says. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to let me work?"

"Fine."

Gladio storms out of the kitchen, and a moment later, cheers and howls erupt from the television as Gladio tunes into some sporting event.

Ignis braces his palms against the counter and leans into them with his eyes closed. He takes a slow breath and tells himself he's being unnecessarily sensitive and childish about the whole thing. It was just sex. That was all. No need to be salty about it, and he'd be wise to let it go, otherwise he's in danger of losing his closest friend.

Cor arrives ten minutes early and Gladio turns off the television. Back in the kitchen, he offers Cor a drink and pointedly avoids speaking to Ignis. Cor ignores his offer and drifts over to the stove to peer into the frying pan in admiration.

"That smells incredible, Ignis," he says.

"Thank you, Marshal. I hope it will taste incredible as well."

"If what I've heard about your cooking is true, I'm sure I won't be disappointed," Cor says. "Truth be told, I haven't eaten a decent meal in weeks."

"Why is that?" Ignis asks idly.

"Busy. You've seen the news."

"Indeed, I have," Ignis says. "This is almost finished. Gladio, if you could make yourself useful and set the table?"

Gladio mutters something under his breath.

"What was that?" Ignis asks.

"Yes, sir," Gladio says, his voice heavy sarcasm.

Ignis doesn't bother to acknowledge him this time. No sense in arguing in front of Cor.

"Marshal, how do you prefer your steak?"

"Bloody."

"Good man," Ignis says. "Nothing worse than a well done cut of quality meat. Overcooking destroys the more subtle flavors..."

But nobody cares to hear him elaborate about the finer details of food preparation. Gladio is poring Cor a drink, and they've already moved onto sports. By the time the meal is served, they're in the midst of a discussion of goings on at the Citadel, a topic that Ignis can't contribute to, even if he wished to.

Ignis doesn't speak for the majority of the meal. He's pleased with the way the dilled lemon sauce turned out, even if the asparagus are a tad overcooked. Against his better judgment, he indulges in a glass of wine to ease the tension in his muscles, and by the time he serves dessert, his irritation with Gladio has died down to a dull roar.

"So, uh, Cor," Gladio says as they sit down to enjoy an after dinner drink, "you said you'd give us the goods on Prompto..."

Cor sips his drink and nods thoughtfully. Gladio shifts in his chair but Ignis gathers the man is not reluctant but attempting to organize his thoughts.

"What I say here doesn't leave this room," Cor says. "I need your word."

"But of course," Ignis says. "It's only for Prompto's benefit that we ask."

Cor smiles a little and sits forward.

"I saw him get patched in last week," he says.

"How did he look?" Ignis asks.

"Strong," Cor says. "Like he belonged there."

Ignis is relieved to hear that. It's one thing to get word third-hand from Gladio, and another to hear it from an eye witness that knew a thing or two about trainees and potential.

"Glad to hear it," Ignis says. "I gather you have some special interest in the boy...?"

Cor scratches his forehead and sits back.

"I do," he says. "He was about a year and a half old when a Niff woman arrived the border begging for refuge. They called me to help determine whether or not she was a spy."

The story Cor tells is a heartbreaking one. The woman, named Celine, and baby Prompto were taken into custody. Celine claimed to be a pediatrician at a Magitek Facility on the outskirts of Gralea. She told him about a project they were working on, one that involved genetically engineered clones to be used as a basis for a mechanized army. At the time, no one was aware that MT's existed, as the first wave of functional soldiers had yet to be rolled out.

The baby in her arms was supposedly one of them.

Celine told Cor she was only a caregiver that handled monitoring of the infant's overall health and wellness, not a participant in the experiments. She had reservations about the project from the beginning, but did not learn the children in her care were to be made into weapons until later when she was showed a prototype.

It wasn't until one of the children in her care was slated for termination that she began to really question what she was doing there. Though Prompto was the smallest of the batch and there were concerns about his vision, he was a healthy, robust, and happy child. He was more verbal and laughed more than the others and responded better to music and colors, but those things were unimportant to those in charge.

The Niffs required physically perfect specimens for the project, and Prompto didn't make the cut.

Celine, who became a doctor to protect life, not destroy it, couldn't abide the euthanization of a perfectly healthy baby simply because he was at the bottom end of the physical development curve. Especially when he seemed so far ahead of the others from a cognitive perspective. She ignored orders, bundled the boy in several blankets stolen from the ward and absconded with him.

She had no plan, only to get as far from the Empire's reach as possible, and found herself several months later, at the gates of Insomnia with an eighteen month old child that she'd fallen hopelessly in love with due to his sweet disposition and big blue eyes and hearty laugh.

"They were both half starved and in need of rest and a good meal, but the baby was strong and healthy and damned if he didn't have a smile that could melt even Shiva's heart," Cor says. "I couldn't turn them away."

"They were cleared, then," Ignis says.

"Yeah," Cor says. He stares into his drink. "Celine was very fond of him. Probably would have given her life if it meant he was safe."

"What happened to her?" Gladio asks.

"She died suddenly about eight months after they arrived," Cor says. "Hit by a car at a crosswalk downtown on her way to pick Prompto up from the sitter."

"And how old was he then?"

"Just over two," Cor says. "She named me as an emergency contact, and Prompto was placed in my care. I wanted to keep him, but my duties and the risk made that impossible."

Ignis can't decide whether or not he's furious with Cor, or extremely grateful. The answer to that, he supposes, lies in the answer to his next question.

"And the Argentum's?" Ignis asks. "How did they end up caring for him?"

"Hebeto was an acquaintance of mine," Cor says. "He and his wife were unable to have children of their own, and he owed me a favor for bailing him out of some trouble. They agreed to take the boy in hopes of starting a family of their own. I made them promise to keep his origins secret in exchange for financial help in raising him."

"What sort of trouble?" Ignis asks, though he suspects he already knows the answer.

"Drunk and disorderly charges," Cor says. He drops his gaze to his shoes. "I never thought he'd raise his hand to a kid, though. If I'd known..."

"So you knew the guy beat the hell out of him?" Gladio demands.

"Not until he started to train with the Crownsguard," Cor says.

"He told you?" Ignis asks, surprised. It's not something Prompto talks about.

"He didn't need to," Cor says. "It was the way he acted during hand-to-hand training, and the fact that he was living with you at the time. It was pretty obvious."

Ignis decides he can forgive Cor's decision to place Prompto with the Argentum's. They did their duty insofar as keeping his secret. Had that come to light earlier in Prompto's life, perhaps he would not be alive now.

"There's one thing I'm not sure I understand," Ignis says. "Did you recognize the barcode from the start?"

"Not until a few years later, when we actually had to fight those things," Cor says. "Back before the Kingsglaive took over the ground assaults. The first time I saw it, I knew exactly what project Celine was talking about, and what Prompto was. It broke my heart."

"Why the hell didn't you say any of this when Ignis and Prompto were locked up?" Gladio demands. "You don't think this information would have helped?"

"I don't," Cor says. "Just imagine the shit-show it would have been. I doubt Regis would have been able to justify sparing our lives."

"The hell he couldn't," Gladio says. "You had a bigger hand in this than anyone, and they're the ones who paid for it."

Cor nods at Gladio, then turns to Ignis.

"I am sorry for how things went down," he says. "It means a lot to me that you tried to protect him."

It dawns on Ignis that Cor must care for Prompto. In training he never showed it, but he's looked out for him all these years. He paid for his school and a few extras where he could. The plea for forgiveness in his eyes now is not that of a man who's been caught doing wrong, but of one who believes he chose the best possible course of action. Ignis is inclined to believe he has.

If Cor had spoken up, very likely, it would have looked as though a greater conspiracy was at work, the Citadel infiltrated by traitors. Cor was nearly as close to the King as Prompto to Noctis. Everyone would have come under fire, including Regis himself for allowing so many traitors in his midst. Already, the King faced the growing disillusionment of his people, both within the city and from the Lucian territories he is no longer able to protect. It's likely something that big would have brought him down.

"I understand," Ignis says. "By keeping silent, you were trying to avoid a bigger scandal."

"Wait, you're just going to forgive him for keeping his mouth shut? This ruined your life, Iggy."

"No," Ignis says. "His silence saved it. And our King."

* * *

Guard duty at the wall is boring as hell. For hours, Prompto walks a repetitive circuit along the perimeter, on the lookout for threats. There isn't much to see besides wildlife and the occasional vehicle.

His mind wanders and he struggles to focus, and he wonders if this isn't punishment for something. Nyx gets sent to the Citadel for gate duty whenever he's pissed Drautos off. Maybe Prompto did something without knowing it. Maybe Drautos didn't like his little magical outburst on the day of the trials. Maybe, it's because he's still sort of useless. He's a good shot, but not much more.

Still, it's not a battlefield. Prompto's okay with that.

He's not dismissed until nightfall, and it's Nyx that comes to collect him. As if he couldn't find his way back to the compound on his own.

None of the others have an escort. Mateo was allowed to report for his patrol at the Citadel on his own.

But then, Prompto's the only one branded by the enemy, and the only one who wears an expensive piece of technology on his wrist. They're just protecting their investment.

"How'd it go, Plebe?"

"Boring."

"Oh come on, guard duty's a thrill a minute," Nyx says with a grin. "I mean, it's my absolute favorite way to spend my day. You get to stand there and mean-mug everyone within a ten foot radius and get harassed by the City Watch for not being Lucian. How can that not be exciting?"

Prompto removes the magazine from his rifle and stores it away in his pocket.

"I'm a Lucian," Prompto mutters.

The more he says it to himself, the less he believes it's true.

Nyx claps him on the shoulder, and though he still wears that sardonic smirk, there's a hint of sympathy in his face.

"What do you say we go grab a bite to eat, Crown Citizen?"

"I could eat," Prompto says, "but are we talking the Citadel mess hall or something else?"

"How do you feel about spicy food?"

"I'm big on spicy food," Prompto says. His mood lifts a little at the thought of different flavors, of the non-bland variety. "But, it's gotta be pretty warm to impress me."

Nyx laughs, slaps his arm and they walk to the subway station. Prompto expects a downtown restaurant, somewhere near the compound, but they go the opposite direction, to an area of town not so far from where he grew up.

When they get off the train, he knows right away they're in the Waiting Room. It's lively and loud, and the faces they pass on the street speak of other, far away places and struggle.

This is a part of town he's been warned against since he was a kid. Dangerous, crime-ridden, dirty. Not a safe place for a kid. That might have been true for a Lucian teenager, but he and Nyx are both still in uniform, and they receive nods of respect as they pass by vendors and pedestrians who all assume they too are immigrants.

Nyx stops at a food truck, tucked halfway into an alley brimming with garbage. Mingled with the delicious scent of roasting meat is the odor of rot. It nearly turns Prompto's stomach, until hunger wins out and Nyx presents him with a paper tray of skewered meat and vegetables and the smell of spices and fat overpowers the foul reek from the alley.

He breathes it in and closes his eyes and thinks of Ignis. He would love this. Prompto always meant to introduce Ignis to street food and the unique flavors found only in the darker corners of the city, but there never seemed to be much time for that.

Someday, he's going to do just that. Once things have settled and Ignis' good name is cleared, he'll take Ignis on a food truck tour of the city, just the two of them.

As he takes his first bite and his mouth and throat warm from the exotic spices and hot pepper, he decides they'll start here. He takes another bite and moans happily as the heat builds and he feels the burn in his sinuses. It clears his head and his mind and he feels somewhat normal again, like he's spending an evening with Noctis just hanging out.

"Too hot?" Nyx asks.

Prompto shakes his head and takes another bite. Nyx laughs and digs into his own meal.

"What is this, anyway?" Prompto asks.

"Chickatrice with curry and Galahd pepper," Nyx says. "It's not totally authentic, but close enough to make me homesick. Want a beer?"

Prompto shakes his head. "I'm good."

"What kind of nineteen year old refuses alcohol when it's offered?"

"The kind that grew up with an alcoholic in the family," Prompto says between bites.

"Doesn't mean you'll be one," Nyx says. "But I get it. No pressure."

"Thanks," Prompto says. "Hey, um, you know anything about Crowe and my buddy Gladio beating the crap out of my dad?"

Nyx's eyes glitter and crinkle at the corners. It's not quite a smirk. His expression is a little too serious for that, but he nods, licks the grease from his fingers and sits back.

"You were there, too, weren't you?" Prompto asks.

"I was," Nyx says.

"Why?"

"Because I don't like hearing a grown man beat the shit out of a sixteen-year-old boy who was too puny and weak to fight back," Nyx says. He looks at Prompto thoughtfully. "Not so puny now, though, are you?"

Prompto's only an inch taller than he was then, but nearly a year of training has left him lean and muscular and perfectly capable of fighting back. Compared to Gladio, he's still puny.

After this morning he's not sure if confronted, he'd be brave enough to defend himself. That old fear has never quite left him. Just the sight of his father was enough to leave him paralyzed and on the verge of a meltdown. He might just curl into a ball and wait for it to be over, like he used to.

"You guys didn't have to do that," Prompto says.

"Maybe not," Nyx says, "but when the crown Prince asks you to avenge his best friend, you do it. No questions asked."

Nyx has confirmed what Crowe hinted at. That Noct was there. It makes him emotional, the thought that Noctis cared enough to ensure it never happened again, but he doesn't like the idea of Noctis taking part in something like that. He doesn't know why. Maybe because it's out of character, or because it was on his behalf.

Nyx's phone rings. He takes it from his pocket, frowns at the screen and answers the call.

"Hello, Sir."

There's a long pause. Nyx glances up at Prompto and pushes his empty tray away.

"Yes, sir. We'll be there in thirty."

Curiosity piqued, Prompto wipes his hands on a napkin and sits up straighter.

"Good news, kid," Nyx says as he pockets the phone. "You're about to see your first real battle."


End file.
